Salarium
by JMK758
Summary: How and why was Commander Megalo murdered on the eve of his retirement? Did the Petty Officer see something he should not have? Please Review.
1. Sky

This is my thirteenth NCIS Mystery and the second of my Second Season. The series began during the Memorial Day Weekend of the 4th Season, it's now November.  
The numerous Affairs in my series are, of course, a Homage to Ducky from his U.N.C.L.E. days.  
In 'Dark Night' Jimmy Palmer asked Michelle Lee to marry him. She said yes. They plan to wed on May 1. In 'Butterfly Affair', Jimmy was shot and is currently hospitalized.  
The usual legal disclaimers apply. Details on Naval Station Norfolk have been changed.  
Please Review.  
Rating: T or NCis-17. Death, Intrigue and Mystery.  
And for all those who have been steadily campaigning for more Ducky, I am pleased to present – _more Ducky_.

Salarium  
By JMK758  
Prologue

Petty Officer Third Class Bill Clarke waits in the black, anonymous Government Issue car, watching the attractive women who pass him headed into, away from or past the twelve fifty-foot-long steps which lead up to the plaza. The expanse is surrounded by numerous tall white buildings which constitute the business mall. It's 8:30 on a Wednesday morning and he has been here for more than half an hour, with nothing to do but feast upon the delights offered on this early and unusually mild November morning. There are a reasonable number of fluttering skirts to hold his attention until he sees Lieutenant Commander John Megalo pause at the top of the steps.

One glance at the uniformed Commander gasping and clutching his chest is enough. Clarke is out of the car, running around the front of it, but by the time he reaches the steps the man has collapsed backward out of sight. Bounding up the steps three at a time, he reaches the sweating, writhing man in only a moment. Megalo's stentorian breathing strains his lungs as he clutches his chest, his body convulsing.

Clarke grasps the dark dress blue uniform coat and yanks with all his strength, ripping the buttons off, pulling the man's tie loose and then ripping the white shirt apart, but nothing he can do can ease the officer's gasping.

Frightened, uncertain what is happening, Clarke looks about, seeing a number of men and women scattered widely through the plaza. "HEY!" he yells, grasping their attention, "someone call 911!"

The man under his hands goes still, no longer breathing. Clarke presses his ear to Megalo's chest but hears nothing. He reaches behind the unconscious man's head, tilts it back, pinches his nose and blows two hard breaths into the quieted lungs. He interlaces his fingers upon the center of his chest and pushes twenty sharp rhythmic thrusts.

Wiping Megalo's perspiration from where it had smeared his own mouth, Clarke bends down again and blows two more deep breaths and then starts another twenty sharp thrusts. Two more breaths, dry the moist sweat from his lips, then more strained efforts.

It's hard work, Clarke can't pause for even a moment and he wonders how long it will be before help finally arrives. He grows breathless as he alternates efforts. He's about to breathe again for Megalo but his own breath comes short. He stops, unable to push again, unable to breathe. He tries to draw air, tries again, but something is wrong. He can't catch his breath. No matter how fast he breathes, no matter how hard he gasps for air he can't….

Chapter One  
Sky

It's rare for Tony DiNozzo to have an opportunity for a quiet morning with Ziva David in the Operations bullpen, but at this moment, minutes into the nominal start of shift, neither Gibbs nor McGee are present. For Tony, it's too good an opportunity to pass up.

"Ziva, I was wondering, you doing anything tonight?"

"No, why do you ask?"

"I was thinking; you, me, a candlelit dinner in some upscale restaurant far from the Navy or Marines." He hadn't had her attention before; now he certainly does.

"Well, this is a surprise."

"Why so surprised that I'd want to spend the evening in the company of an exceptionally beautiful woman?"

For a moment Ziva is uncertain. Part of her is flattered, and she has to admit to similar thoughts regarding her partner, especially after the pain inflicted upon her by McGee, but another part searches for 'the catch'. As she stares deeply into the man's telltale eyes, she's amazed not to find it.

"I think I would like that."

"Then it's a date."

"On one condition." Tony allows his face to ask the question. "That we tell no one of this."

"I can live with that."

xx

Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard pauses at the Autopsy entrance doors to allow Abby Sciuto to enter the huge room first. "After you, my little lotus blossom."

Abby smiles, entering the dark room through the sliding doors. Ducky frequently calls her by this nickname, which never fails to please her; though she's never understood the particular significance of the choice. She's always thought of herself as more of a nightshade.

They'd met at the elevator near the Café, Abby continuing down past her lab in hopes of receiving an update on her friend's condition. As he turns on the series of switches beside the door, the bright lights fill the large room, life coming back to this bastion of the dead. "How's Jimmy?" she asks as he removes his hat and coat and hangs both up on the stand near the door.

"As well as one might expect," Ducky assures her. It's been twenty days since he'd been shot, the frightening wound confining him to Bethesda Naval Hospital, northwest of the Navy Yard. "I saw him last evening. Agent Lee was with him when I arrived, which came as no surprise at all."

"I'll bet." The young woman has spent every evening, every free hour, at her fiancé's side in the near three weeks since he had been shot by a gunman at the clean-out of the 'Wing Warehouse' in Rock Creek. Sixteen kidnapped and surgically altered young women had been rescued in that assault upon a horrific experimental laboratory, with Jimmy the only casualty. "How much longer will he be laid up?"

"His physician and I both agree he could be fit for light duty by Friday. He'll come out on the day after tomorrow, and report here _part time_ on Monday. I intend to monitor him quite closely, I assure you."

"I'm just relieved he's going to be all right," Abby confesses.

"Yes, he was quite fortunate – or as fortunate as one could be who has been shot in the neck. The bullet only nicked the left side of his jugular vein; not a mortal wound but an unnerving one nonetheless. I have seen him every day, saw him last evening as I said, and I expect him to make a complete recovery."

"I'm sure Michelle's making sure he's getting excellent care." Abby says with a smile.

"Indeed."

x

"I'm sorry your new assistant didn't work out. I guess you have Autopsy all to yourself again." Patrick Harper had been working with Ducky for the past two plus weeks, since just after the murderous assault. She'd quickly tagged him with the nickname 'Seamus', after the Sci-Fi character on 'Andromeda', much to his ongoing displeasure. But yesterday morning his Clearance to enter the Navy Yard, quickly established to allow him to substitute for Jimmy on very brief notice, had been revoked upon final adjudication. Abby cannot recall the last time she had seen Ducky so angry as at this high-handed maneuver.

"Some things are just not to be," he admits philosophically. "Mr. Harper was quite competent. If not for an indiscretion two years ago, he would have passed the Navy's rather stringent Security checks and be with us still. One would think it would take less time for them to do a sufficient background check and satisfy themselves."

"I guess that leaves you as your own assistant for a while," she looks about the large Autopsy room. "Kind of sucks."

"Not entirely, no. The days are long past when I will work both sides of the table, so to speak. I expect my _new_ temporary Assistant even as we speak."

"Oh? Who, Gerald?" She had expected her old friend to have been the first choice and had said nothing when he hadn't been. Of course, now the man may have another chance.

"Sadly, no, Mr. Jackson is no longer available, particularly on a temporary basis. He had been my first choice, but he is employed as an Assistant Medical Examiner with the city of Annapolis and cannot get away. No, I have been in touch with George Washington University yesterday morning. I asked for recommendations and they sent me the names of three Medical students." He crosses to and sits down at his desk, picking up and displaying a blue folder.

"As there remains only a week for which I will require his services, and based strictly on the Grade Point Averages, I have selected a Samuel Sky. Well, 'Sam' NMN for 'No Middle Name' on the record. He has begun his fourth year Medical and impressed me by having maintained a firm 4.0 GPA for all four years. He's trained at Providence and Walter Reed, and though he has some three to five years in General Pathology to go, then a year of Forensic Pathology before he may legally qualify as an ME he will be an MD in the coming Spring and if his performance matches his test scores he should do well."

"So he'll be an M.E. in six?"

"The hands-on experience here will do him good, and I prefer someone skilled rather than not. At my age I have no desire to begin a training program; I prefer someone who can come in knowing the difference between a maxillary and a gluteus maximus."

She restrains herself from any 'jawbone of an ass' jokes. "Aww, come on, Ducky, you're not old."

"No, my dear, that is kind of you to say, but I know full well that there are more days behind me than in front of me."

She bends down and hugs him. "You only passed the midway mark yesterday."

"Thank you, my dear," he says, patting her arm when she releases him, referring as much for the hug as for the compliment.

"So, when do I meet Sam Sky?"

He takes the folder, dropping it back onto the desk. "I expected him already. But when I arrived, before I went up to breakfast, I called the Pass & ID Office to check on Mr. Sky's arrival. They informed me there was a problem with verifying ID's this morning; their computer was not functioning, which I did not find at all surprising. I advised them to contact Timothy and to get Mr. Sky through as quickly as possible."

Abby looks at her watch, "Well, I'll have to meet him later, time to wake up Major Mass Spec." She heads for the door, calling back "let me know if he's cute."

"The Major?"

She flashes him a smile, continues out the sliding door to the elevator as he picks up the file again and opens it.

The transcript doesn't tell him much more than academics, the man's name, address and age – 24. "They get younger every year," he muses. There are, at least, an impressive set of Academic scores to offset the insufficiency of age.

x

As he finishes the report on a male shooting victim for Fred Higgins' team, an investigation in which a young Marine stands implicated, the doors behind him part and he turns around. He's annoyed, however, to see that the person at the door is _not_ his new Assistant.

A young blonde woman flashes him a smile as she enters and crosses the room toward him. As he stands up, Ducky has a moment to evaluate her. She's several inches shorter than he; he judges her to be about five foot two. Her short, pale blonde hair styled in a pixie cut compliments her peaches and cream complexion, and she wears a brown calf length skirt and matching vest over a white blouse. To the vest is affixed a plastic NCIS Visitor's tag.

"Doctor Mallard?" She has a smile that seems to fill her face.

"Yes, may I help you, my dear?"

He has only one body presently in storage but not ready for release, the aforementioned shooting victim, so he's not expecting anyone other than Mr. Sky, who he supposes he will _eventually_ meet. He wonders, with a flash of annoyance, just how much longer 'Pass and ID' is going to take with the man's processing – and why he hadn't been told about _this_ person coming.

"Hi, I think you're expecting me?" she shakes his hand.

"Indeed? And you are?"

"Samantha Sky, everyone calls me 'Sammy'," her smile falters slightly; undoubtedly, he realizes, due to the disconcerted expression on his own face. "I'm your new assistant?"

"Oh, _dear_."

x

Her expression stings his conscience. "I'm sorry, Miss Sky, that was horribly discourteous of me. You're – you're just, well, not quite what I was expecting."

"I get that all the time," she grins. "People always expect me to be taller. My whole family's all over six feet, but I'm afraid I'm the runt of the litter."

"No, it's not that, I–" He's saved by the beep of the intercom on his desk. "Would you excuse me please?" He turns to the desk, grateful for the moment to think as he sits down and pushes the visiphone button. "Autopsy."

/We're heading out, Ducky,/ Tim McGee's image and voice come from the device. /Two Naval officers have just been found dead on Army Navy Drive./

"I'll be right out." He shuts off the device and stands, finding his new Assistant smiling up at him with happy anticipation. "Well, Samantha Sky, as I said, you are not exactly what I expected, but we shall have to get acquainted on the job."

"Great! Lead the way, Doctor Mallard."

"Call me Ducky."

"Okay," she tells him brightly, "but you call me 'Sammy'. I _never_ go by Samantha."

"Really? It's such a lovely name."

"My dad certainly thought so, but I dropped it years ago to keep peace in the family.

This seems an unusual move. "Why would a name be a matter of peace?"

"After Mom found out that he had a thing for, and named me after, Elizabeth Montgomery."

xxx

Gibbs' car, with Ziva riding shotgun and Michelle in the back seat, pulls up to the curb in front of the white, black and blue MCRT truck bearing Tony and Tim. They stop behind the open door of an Ambulance. Gibbs had noted before pulling in that there's a black GI car, well distinguished by its indistinctiveness, parked in front of the Ambulance, its driver door partially open.

A crowd fills the sidewalk on each side of the cordoned area. Police keep the curious away from the steps leading up to the plaza by yellow Crime Scene tape stretched from handrails on either side of the stairs to parked cars and along the long width of the stairs. Gibbs is the first one to the tape and displays his ID and shield for the uniformed Officer before he ducks under, followed by the rest of his team. The stairs extend over their heads, but by the time they've cleared the third step they can take in the scene.

The yellow tape surrounds the plaza to a perimeter forty feet wide by fifty deep, though it is near the stairs where the two bodies lie. Both are in uniform, the Commander's dark jacket open, tie removed and shirt torn open. Next to his body lies that of a Petty Officer Third Class, his blue uniform his only identification as he lies face down beside the Commander's body.

The faces and hands of both men are bright pink.

x

Two EMTs stand twenty feet from the bodies, speaking with three uniformed MPDC Officers. Gibbs heads straight for the Police Sergeant, displaying his shield and ID. "Special Agent Gibbs, Special Agents DiNozzo, McGee, Lee, Officer David. What've you got?"

"Several calls came in to 911," the Asian man tells him, "but when we rolled up half an hour ago almost everyone who had been in the plaza was gone. By the time we got to them the men were both dead and there was only one witness who was brave enough to stay behind. He said your Petty Officer was giving CPR, then suddenly started gasping and dropped."

"Why do you suppose that is, Sergeant?"

"Two military men keel over dead within seconds of each other? I'm not really sure I want to know. If I didn't have to be here I wouldn't. We cordoned off the area, but we're not getting any closer."

"You notice their color?"

"Kind of hard not to." The bright pink skin of both men is utterly unnatural.

"Ever see anything like it before?"

"Nope, and this is as close as I'm getting to seeing it now. This one's all yours."

Sometimes it is refreshing not to have to deal with the all-too-frequent squabbles over jurisdiction, but there are times like this that he misses them.

x

Gibbs notes with approval that his team is documenting the scene and taking testimony from the police and EMTs, not needing direction from him. McGee, with the camera, had begun at one corner of the cordoned rectangle, taking a panoramic view of the scene. Now he's circling the area for a series of medium shots while Ziva notes the details of each picture in her notebook. When he's finished with the close-up detail shots, it will be time to move in, but Gibbs is sure no one will be anxious to touch the bodies before Ducky and Harper arrive.

The M.E. van has arrived and Ducky is climbing the stairs, carrying his black satchel. But he's followed by a pale blonde girl who looks barely more than twenty; about Lee's height, five two, she makes Ducky, with five inches on her, look tall. Short haircut, did they call it 'pixie'? Independent, not a fashionista? Brown calf length skirt and matching vest over a white blouse, not at all bad on the eyes, as DiNozzo would say at his most irritating, but what is she doing trailing Ducky? The NCIS Visitor pass attached to her vest will admit her to Headquarters, and obviously Ducky must have vouched for her to get her past the Uniformed Officer at the tape, but who is she and what the _hell_ is she doing on this Crime Scene?

As soon as Ducky sees the bodies he stops. "Oh, dear."

"Oh, ditto," the girl agrees.

Ducky turns to her and hands her the black bag. "You'll find surgical masks in the side compartment," he says, pointing to the appropriate end of the satchel, "put one on."

Gibbs watches as the girl kneels on one knee, puts the bag down, unzips the end compartment and pulls out two blue masks, hands one up to Ducky.

"And there are latex gloves in that front compartment." She passes a set to the man and pulls on a set. His fits, hers are long on each finger. She puts on the mask.

Ducky looks down at the bodies and then crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet so he may examine them more closely, the woman joining him. "Looking at these bodies, what would you say the cause of death is?"

She's obviously surprised, but looks over the pair. "No apparent wounds to either body, the skin bright pink... Cyanide? One of the azides?"

"Precisely."

x

"Ducky," Gibbs tone tells the man that neither of these bodies is the one he's concerned with at the moment. He doesn't bother to ask 'where's Patrick Harper', confident he'll find out.

The girl stands up, showing herself to be even smaller than Lee, and looks up at him, pulls the blue mask down and favors him with a dazzling smile. "Hi, I'm Sammy," she holds out her gloved hand, the latex loose at the end of each finger. Gibbs doesn't take her hand, but it's enough for Ducky to turn his attention from the bodies at his feet.

"Oh, yes, sorry. Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, my _new_ temporary assistant Miss Samantha– I mean Sammy Sky. Jethro, she will need a more appropriate ID if she is to be assisting at Crime Scenes."

"I'll get right on it," his tone carries his 'I'm not a Personnel Manager' message quite clearly, then he turns to the girl, "How do you do?"

"Pretty good when I'm not making an idiot of myself," she assures him with a wide grin.

x

Even as Sammy looks up at this formidable grey haired man, an equally tall, dark man seems to appear out of nowhere beside her.

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo and I'm very pleased to meet you." His voice is so honeyed she could use it for complexion cream.

x

DiNozzo likes the pale blue of her eyes; they seem to go so well with her equally pale, pixie length blonde hair and bright complexion.

She extends her hand, "Sammy."

Before he can take it Ducky, who remains crouched down beside the bodies, looks up at her. "You are forbidden to speak to Agent DiNozzo without supervision, my dear." He'd meant it in a semi-bantering manner, as much a hint that he wants her to go to work, but she takes the direction seriously, looking up at DiNozzo.

"Sorry," she says with a shrug and a bright smile to take away the sting before moving away to step around the other side of the Commander's body. She sets down the black bag, pulls the blue mask back up over her mouth and nose and crouches down so she may examine the corpse as closely as Ducky is doing.

DiNozzo stares at them, disconcerted at the aborted introduction. He listens to their quiet conversation, Ducky going over what to look for on the body, when a sharp slap to the back of his head jars his vision. He turns to Gibbs, who just raises an index finger in warning. "Yes, boss," he complies, annoyed at both men but knowing he may do nothing about it.

The fact that, when he does return to work, both Ziva and McGoo are grinning at him doesn't help his mood. "Come on, Magoo, stop staring at the lady and get to work."

"I wasn't staring…."

x

"Do you know what killed them?" Gibbs asks, noting that this is the first time the man has used such precautions as masks at a crime scene in a very long time.

"I have three suspicions, all of which are equally nasty. Be absolutely certain you do not touch either of these bodies. In fact, I should appreciate your keeping a respectable distance." He looks up at the young woman crouching opposite him. "The same goes for you too, my dear."

"Kinda hard to assist you from way over there," she points out.

"Then you do not touch anything that I do not specifically direct you to touch."

"Yes, doctor," her earlier bright spirits are dimmed by apprehension.

x

"What can you tell me, Duck?" Gibbs asks after about a minute of watching the pair work over the body. Ducky has the corpse's white shirt pulled from his pants and doesn't look up from the indicator of the liver probe stuck into his side.

"Commander Megalo," he says, reading the I.D. pinned to the uniform, "is laying on his back and he is dead." Interrupted by a giggle from the other side of the body, he looks up as Sammy claps her hand over her mouth.

"Sorry," she says through her mask and covering fingers, though the blue material can't hide the fact that she is still grinning broadly despite her embarrassment.

"Yes." In all his years as a Medical Examiner, he has not had an Assistant who giggled at him, no matter how sardonic his comment. "Well, according to the liver probe he has been dead," he withdraws the probe and turns it toward Samantha, "how long?"

"One hour, Doctor," she tells him.

Though she's no longer grinning, what he can see of her smile is still quite confident, as are her eyes. "You're certain?"

"Yes, sir." The dubious look in his eyes strikes at her confidence, but she rallies quickly, determined to prove her competence in so simple an area. "Liver temperature drops at an average of one and a half degrees an hour. That says 97.1 Fahrenheit." His gaze does not change. "It's 66 degrees out, even the temperature under his body would have been raised slightly before his body started to cool, so there would be little bleed-off from contagion. 98.6 minus 97.1 is 1.5, that's one hour."

"Will you go on record as certifying that time of death?"

She catches his tone this time. "No, no I won't."

"Why not? A moment ago you were certain."

She starts to look chastened, but that lasts only an instant before her assurance is back, this time in admission of her mistake. "Because I didn't see him die, nor did I see if anything could have affected his temperature to make it higher or lower before we took it. Also, liver temperature falls at an _average_ rate, not a precise one."

"Exactly," Ducky tells her, satisfied and glad she was wise enough to amend her decision. "Lividity, temperature, the onset and reduction of rigor, stomach content, these things give us sufficient information on which to base a _preliminary_ judgment, but they must be taken in concert, and it is also true neither of us were witness to this man's demise.

"When offering testimony, as you shall be called upon to do in court, we cannot say precisely when he expired, but offer only a reasonable approximation. It is up to the Field Investigators to determine the time with precision.

"There are, as you know, two times of death, physiologic and legal. The first one is the time when heart, brain and autonomic functions have ceased; the other is when the body has been declared dead by a competent authority. There can be any length of time imaginable between the two, but both must be taken into consideration. Now, we have determined an approximate time of physiologic death, it remains only to establish a legal one."

"Oh, that's easy," she looks at her watch, gives a time three minutes in the past.

Ducky regards her closely. "How do you make that determination?" He had said a 'competent authority'; hardly the description of a Fourth Year Medical Student.

"That's when you said to Agent Gibbs 'Commander Megalo is laying on his back and he is dead'."

x

Ducky is quite taken aback, that detail had slipped his mind in the framing of his lecture. "Quite. Now, as to physiologic death," he continues to cover his chagrin, "I try to avoid establishing a time with less than a four hour margin. Since a four hour range would clearly offer negative numbers, how would you answer Agent Gibbs' query?"

She looks up to the man towering above her. "He probably died sometime within the last two hours."

"Okay." Gibbs is satisfied with this. He already has a more accurate witness statement. "How did they die?"

She looks down at the body again; then to Ducky, who nods that she may touch the bodies. She examines Megalo's closely; neither man saying a word in direction. She looks under his shirt, examines his face, particularly noting the pink flush to the skin which is reflected in that of the other man beside him. She lifts Megalo's eyelids to look into his eyes, then under them, finds the tiny red spotting of petechial hemorrhaging under the soft tissue. She examines his hands, then those of the other man, performs the same examinations throughout his body and finally looks to Ducky. "I don't know." Ducky points up to Gibbs; she looks up into his stern expression. "Wrong answer?"

"Wrong answer," he tells her grimly.

"I'll … find out and let you know?"

"Better."

x

When Gibbs turns from them, Ducky directs Sammy's attention to the other body. "Let us examine our Petty Officer. Tell me, when we turn him over, what may we expect to find?"

Even while saying this, he's glad Abby isn't present to point out his earlier determination not to begin a training program. It's simply natural for him to do so.

"Well, let's see," Sky begins, considering. "Lividity is fixed after six to eight hours, so the blood is still fluid enough to move if we turn him. It'll have been pressed out from the areas under pressure from the body on the cement. So there will be an almost exsanguinated area surrounded by a ring of accumulated blood."

"Will there be any lividity at all?"

"After an hour or less, I doubt it. Not enough time."

"And if we do find livor mortis, will that remain?"

She considers carefully, looking at her watch. "I don't _think_ so. Livor mortis takes four to eight hours to fix. Then the blood will have seeped out of the vessels and stained the tissues. After an hour, we're still dealing with shifting lividity."

"And if it _is_ fixed?"

She is even more cautious about this answer. "Then _something_ affected the blood, or the vessels to make the blood seep through. There's simply not been enough time, and I don't remember cyanide or any of the azides doing that."

"So you cannot state whether either body has been moved?"

"No."

"Very good. Now, knowing what we may _expect_ to find, let us see what we do find."

xx

Gibbs looks at the collection of white buildings that surround the plaza. "McGee, David, find out where they went and what they were doing here."

McGee passes the large camera to DiNozzo and is about to proceed across the plaza with Ziva, but she gives him a sour look and ducks under the perimeter tape, more walking away from him than to a destination.

DiNozzo's tone, when McGee turns back, is commiserating; quite unusual for him. "Well, at least she's not giving you a 'wake-up call' with a hammer."

McGee is annoyed as he watches the departing woman. "I'm just wondering how much longer she's going to be giving me the cold shoulder."

Tony has never minded the collapse of his co-worker's love affair, as it has served to open the door to possibilities of his own, and though his words are superficially sympathetic, he has none at all. "Well, let's see. You start out with her as your one true love, run into your _former_ love, bring _her_ into NCIS and in the process see her almost as often as you do Ziva. You never do manage to keep your feelings for O'Mallory secret even while telling one and all that Ziva's the only one for you. Then, six weeks ago while you're doing 'the bad thing' with Ziva you call her 'Siobhan'. She kicks you out of the bed – literally – and less than two weeks later you're dating O'Mallory." He looks to where Ziva has already entered the nearest building on the right. "Yeah, I'd give it ten years."

"Great."

"McGee, I'll give ten _seconds_ for you to get your ass into one of those buildings and start interviewing people."

"Right away, boss," he passes the large camera to Michelle and heads for the yellow tape.

"Nine!"


	2. Comptroller

Chapter Two  
Comptroller

Ziva crosses the wide plaza surrounded by the six tremendous white buildings, the scale of everything in sight dedicated to American conspicuous consumption. She struggles to keep her broiling emotions under tight control so she may concentrate upon her job. It is, however, growing increasingly difficult when there are times she can barely stand to be in the same Squad Room with Timothy McGee, but now, her aggravation extends to Tony DiNozzo as well.

Months ago she had been smoothly pursuing her career, adjusting to life in America and compensating for the idiot idioms she encountered on a daily basis, but she knew who and what she was. Then, in the space of a few moments, everything in her life flipped upside down. Tim McGee had confessed a burning, passionate love for her and she had been utterly amazed to look down into herself and find, in the whirlwind of those weeks, that she felt very much the same way about him.

Their love affair had been torrid, passionate and a whole collection of fiery adjectives. She had also been the happiest she could remember being in years.

But throughout, it was infected with the dark virus of jealousy. First it was Abby Sciuto and her obsessive attempts to come between them, to renew her own relationship with the man. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a woman Tim found equally exotic but far less attainable appeared, a specter from the past who was not going to remain an insubstantial ghost.

Looking back over the past few months of whirlwind passion and seemingly eternal devotion and love, Ziva cannot recall a time when it was just Tim and herself with no outside pressures and influences disrupting their happiness. Finally, she had to admit that the first weeks of bliss were fading under a realization that she and he simply did not fit.

They were vastly different people thrown together by circumstance, and gradually the intense love affair was breaking apart, to the point where they were actually _working_ to hold it together. Looking back, she can see that was the point at which it should have been allowed to dissolve back into mutual friendship and shared affection.

But it had not. They had both worked to maintain a fragmenting relationship when everything around and between them was making it disintegrate.

She had sacrificed so much to her heart, but the relationship continued to fall apart around her. And had it been allowed to do so, that would have been all right, but it had not. Wounds and pains physical and emotional, jealousies and doubts both within and without had piled upon them. Differing directions of heart and affection had torn their relationship asunder, until it was little more than sex and an effort to hold onto love that was fading into affection.

The final unforgivable act had been when they were making love, and in the throes of passionate abandon he had called her '_Siobhan'_!

x

Madness had taken her; jealousy and rage had torn her apart and she had lashed out in violent fury. She knew then, even as she was kicking him out, that it was over, that the happiness she'd enjoyed this past summer and had tried so hard to hold onto was over.

She had cut him off then, a clean break, or as much as two people who worked twelve feet from one another could manage. She had thought, however, that they could have a day, an hour, to clear the air and redefine their friendship. But the press of duty had torn that time apart, and before she had managed to create that time of reconciliation he was _dating _Siobhan.

All right, maybe they _are_ the ones destined to be together – but he did not have to leap into a relationship with the woman without even sitting down and making peace with his old love. Now the wounds are too raw, too deep.

And Tony – less than an hour ago he had surprised her by inviting her to a romantic, candlelit dinner, and this while still trying to hold together his own relationship with Jeanne Benoit, and then though she considered both herself and him to be mad, he had reverted to form by stalking a new woman right in front of her.

_Men_! There is probably nothing wrong with them that cannot be fixed – with an Uzi!

xx

McGee has chosen the second of the buildings in which to begin his interviews, but he barely concludes a fruitless interview with the lobby guards when his cell phone rings. "McGee."

/Outside, Probie. Ziva found us a witness./

When he returns to the Plaza, DiNozzo waves him to the next white building, the fourth of six that surround the expanse. It takes only a few moments for the men to cross the distance and enter through the revolving door into the overly spacious lobby where Ziva stands at the main desk before a blue uniformed guard. On the lighted panel on the front of the high desk is a vast list of tenants. They have already noted from the two elevator banks they pass that there are 43 stories to this building.

"He was here," she tells them unnecessarily.

"Seeing who?" She turns the registry book around, allowing DiNozzo to read it. "Was this guy a doctor?" he asks, trying to decipher the scrawl which is the best they can make of a name and destination, "my guy writes better prescriptions." They can, at least, make out the interval: 0758 to 0833.

"I don't know what he was here for," the guard, a tall man with a shock of grey hair, tells them, "but we only had one Navy officer this morning. He used that bank of elevators."

The agents turn, seeing that the center corridor the man points to is designated '23 – 45'. DiNozzo turns to the guard. "How many offices on each floor?"

"Average about eleven."

"Two hundred fifty three offices." McGee tries not to groan.

"Be glad there are two banks," DiNozzo admonishes, takes out his cell phone and presses the speed dial button. "Ziva: 23 to 28, Probie: 29-34." His call is answered. "Probette, we need you."

xx

Ducky Mallard, having seen all he can on scene, returns to the truck to help his new assistant to prepare for the transport of the bodies. Two gurneys are withdrawn from their latches on the inner sides of the vehicle, each expands automatically and body bags are placed upon them. The Examiner and his apprentice, he's already thinking of her with that term, return to the plaza by way of the triple-back wheelchair ramp on the far right, he keeping up a steady stream of quiz questions.

He decides to give her a B+, though he decides she could do a bit better except for the novelty of the situation. He'll give her another impromptu quiz when he decides she's settled in.

Back at the bodies, he stands well off and watches while she uses paper bags to cover each of the victim's hands and secures them about the wrists.

"What do you think of this one?" Gibbs voice asks in his right ear.

In no way willing to display any surprise, Ducky looks back and up. "'This one'?" If he will always give regard to the deceased under his charge, he'll certainly do no less for the living. "_Samantha Sky_ appears quite competent. This is, of course, her first Crime Scene," he says as she reaches for the liver probe inserted deep into Commander Megalo's side, "but I judge her to be quite compe–."

x

Sammy draws the silver probe out of the man's side, using her gloved fingers to hold the flesh on either side; the probe comes out, bright pink blood dripping on her hand and upon the body.

Her head swims. She can't look away from the dripping probe or the oddly colored blood spotting her hand and seeping through the pinched wound between her fingers. The world starts to tip, to spin wildly - she's going to–

She drops the probe and runs for the yellow tape in the corner of the plaza, clamps her hand to her mouth and prays she'll make it. She slaps the tape up, sprints under it and falls to her knees in the granite corner, unable to hold it another second.

x

"Oh dear," Ducky says, taking a step forward, but he's held back by Gibbs' hand on his arm. The taller man won't say it, but his eyes convey his thought that the girl's new boss is the last one she needs beside her. Gibbs looks back over his shoulder, signals Michelle Lee to give him the camera and go to the girl's aid.

She doesn't look anxious to, but she goes, pausing first at Ducky's open black bag beside the still bodies.

x

Michelle approaches the retching young woman, relieved to see that while there's loud complaint and very evident strain, there's nothing on the ground before her.

Reflecting they haven't even been introduced yet, she kneels and puts what she hopes is a comforting hand upon the straining woman's shoulder, all the while willing peace for her. She remembers her first freshly dead body - and doesn't want to.

She hands the retching blonde a cloth she'd snatched from the medical bag. Sammy manages to fight back to control enough to turn a wet and shamed face to her savior, to dry her eyes enough to whisper, in deep humiliation, "He's going to fire me, isn't he?"

Michelle, having no idea what Ducky intends for this unknown woman, though this apprehension seems unlike the man, can't find the words to answer. Then her cell phone rings.

Half relieved, she pulls it from her belt, sees 'SA DiNozzo' on the screen and flips it open. "Yes?"

/Probette, we need you./

xx

After he directs Michelle to the appropriate building, this one actually the furthest from the steps, DiNozzo closes the phone and returns his attention to the guard. "Did you notice anything unusual or out of the ordinary about the Commander?"

"Not particularly. He was on his cell phone when he got off the elevator. He stopped just outside the door, stood there for about a minute. I was dealing with signing other people in and out so I wasn't paying attention to someone who'd already left. Rather, I wouldn't be except he was standing right outside the revolving door and some woman had to step around him. When she came in she made a comment about me clearing the door."

"Did you notice anything else?"

The guard shrugs. "When he put his cell phone away, just before he left he twinged for just a moment, put his hand to his neck, it looked like a muscle pull, then he walked away. Never saw him again.

"Who was the woman who passed him?"

The man consults his log book, going over the list of those who had signed in just before nine. "An 'E Smer-something'," he shrugs, "a lot of people can't write to save their lives."

It takes a moment for his words to catch up to him and he flinches.

"Well, where did 'E Smer-something' _go_?"

"Jackson and DeTait, 2708."

"Ziva, that's yours."

"Right."

As Lee arrives in the lobby DiNozzo recalls that if the Commander was here for a meeting he probably used his cell phone to set it up or confirm it and sends Lee back out to the scene after it, noting with no chagrin the look she gives him when he triples her long walk.

xx

Ducky closes the door to the back of the M.E. van, both bodies secured within, Gibbs starting up the stairs again after having assisted with carrying the gurneys.

Samantha Sky, having been helped by Michelle Lee, had gone directly to the truck after Lee helped her up. She hadn't looked at anyone, kept her eyes averted and her face covered with her hand. Now Ducky goes to the driver's seat, opens the door and gets in, sees the blonde woman huddled seemingly even smaller than her five foot two. "Miss Sky," he begins in his kindliest voice and she turns quickly in the seat, her pale blue eyes wide in near panic.

"Doctor Mallard I am so sorry I have no idea what came over me I'm not like that at all I'm trying to learn to become a Doctor and then an ME and I have been around bodies before and I've done autopsies I mean supervised autopsies in GW but they were cadavers and suddenly I realized these weren't corpses they were dead men I mean I know they were corpses but they were dead men with lives and families and all and I swear if you'll give me another chance I won't screw up again I'll be better next time and please please don't fire me!"

Ducky, who'd never considered any such thing, and being quite familiar with the reactions of first timers, regards his new assistant with a smile, at the same time resolving to test her lung capacity at their earliest convenience. "Welcome to NCIS."

xxx

Gibbs has completed his interviews with all the officers and the one remaining witness and starts across the plaza when his cell phone rings. "What is it, DiNozzo?"

/Boss, the Commander visited an office on the 43rd floor, third building from your left./

It takes him less than four minutes to arrive at the offices of 'Exeter Consulting'. The elevators open into a single large room, the black woman's desk fronts a collection of doors and corridors. The placard on the edge of it reads 'Ann Crawford'.

"Boss," DiNozzo says as Gibbs approaches, "the Commander was here and met with one of the staff."

"Who did he come to see, Ms. Crawford?"

Crawford isn't disconcerted to have five Federal Agents surrounding her. "Your man met with Mr. Nicholson."

"May we see him?"

She's about to answer, but the reply comes from the other side of the office, "I'm Mark Nicholson."

The bald man by the open door to their left is about 40 and resembles a cue ball. He does, however, not seem to labor under his ponderous weight.

"I understand you were visited this morning by Lieutenant Commander John Megalo," Gibbs says as he crosses the room.

"That's right. May I ask what NCIS has to do with this?"

"Commander Megalo was found dead in the plaza outside your building."

Over the years Gibbs has learned to read faces very well, especially when expressions are the result of a sledgehammer blow between the eyes. What he sees in Nicholson's is surprise but no guilt. It does take the man a moment to rally, however.

"Ah! Well – that's - er, won't you come in?" He steps back from the door, admits the agents. Gibbs glances back at Michelle, his message clear; she's to wait in the reception area, keeping an unobtrusive surveillance on Crawford. Gibbs doesn't want any files or other information conveniently disappearing, nor does he want the woman to know she's being observed.

x

"Why was Commander Megalo here to see you?" Gibbs asks as he and David are seated in the only two available chairs. DiNozzo and McGee stand where they may observe from different angles, attentive to more than the large man behind the desk.

"You understand I'm required to keep certain things confidential. I can only say at this point that he was here to interview for a job."

"A job?"

"His time with the Navy is ending at the end of the year. I understand he's been interviewing with several companies."

"What work is he looking for?"

"He's applied for the position of Comptroller. His job, if he's – that is, were to have been hired, would have been as head of our Accounting Division."

"A lucrative position?"

"It pays $68,000 a year to start, plus benefits and options. The options can easily add another 20. We have many companies that depend upon us for Consulting services."

"Was Commander Megalo going to be hired?"

"That's not my call, Agent Gibbs. I conducted the first two interviews, and I've just forwarded his file to our Vice President for review. He wasn't the only applicant for the job, there are two others, both equally qualified."

"We'll need to see that file."

"No problem," he reaches out to the intercom. "Ann?"

/Yes, sir?/

"Would you ask Harry to send back Commander Megalo's file? We won't be needing it."

/Yes, sir./

x

"What else can you tell us?" Gibbs asks when he closes the connection.

"Not a whole lot. Since he's Navy and you're Navy Police, you probably know more about him than I do. I just met him the two times. He seems – seemed – likable, friendly; he had a good education and knows finances. I understand he worked in your disbursement office at Norfolk Base."

Gibbs nods, not betraying the fact that he hadn't known this yet. It's just one of the many things he'll learn about the late Commander. The job he'd applied for pays reasonably well, though the to-now unnamed perks would probably tip the scale considerably more. Would they have anything to do with his death?

On the way out, Michelle hands Gibbs the file Crawford had given her, using a private signal between them that the woman hadn't seemed to be hiding anything. Little, of course, can be done about what happens after they leave, but he judges there's no need to leave a guardian behind.

xxx

By the time Gibbs returns from Director Shepherd's office, where he has provided her with a SITREP on their latest case, he expects his team to have answers for him. Fortunately, they're wise enough not to disappoint him.

"Lieutenant Commander Megalo," DiNozzo uses the plasma screen's remote control to bring an Official Navy ID on the man up for all to see, "is stationed at Norfolk's Disbursement Division." He looks across the room at McGee and past him to Lee. "That means he worked in Payroll."

"Thank you, Agent DiNozzo," Michelle actually manages to sound grateful, "I do draw a salary."

"Yeah, well Megalo was in charge of it for Norfolk. He ran payments not only to the permanent and transitory staff but to all the ships on station or incoming. The Vicksburg is due to dock tomorrow; SAA Tompkins has already met with the Director yesterday. Payroll's got a huge wad of cash in their vault all ready for disbursement."

"That doesn't explain what the Commander was doing at Exeter Consulting at 0800 this morning, now does it?" Gibbs asks with his usual bite.

"No, boss."

"Boss," McGee calls, "Abby reports Lieutenant Commander Megalo's phone had two outgoing calls on it today, and the second, just before he died, was to the main switchboard at Norfolk. It could then have been routed to any extension."

Gibbs will find out which extension the call went to when they get to the Station. He's more interested in why Megalo would call through the main number, since he would certainly know all the direct lines.

"Norfolk CO Captain Parker is waiting on MTAC," Ziva reports, putting down her phone.

"You're with me, DiNozzo," he says, leaving his desk, not waiting for the other man.

xx

Captain John Parker, Commanding Officer of Naval Station Norfolk, looks out of the main screen in the Multi-Threat Assessment Center, his expression grim. "Every time I meet with you, Agent Gibbs, I lose a man – or many men."

"And women, Captain," he recalls the debacle of the PDC Mark 9. "I'm hoping we can find out what happened to these two."

Parker grows even sourer. "How did they die?"

"Our Medical Examiner is still working on that. I was hoping you could tell me what he was doing. According to the Security Log, Megalo was at Exeter Consulting from 0800 to 0830 while Clarke waited with the car."

"Damned if I know, he was off today."

"He wasn't in mufti, Captain, and he was accompanied by Petty Officer Clarke in a GI car. Now they're both dead."

Parker considers this. "I don't know Clarke's duties but Megalo's tour runs 0800 to 1600. This is his RDO. He lives in Kalorama Heights so I don't know what he was doing here this morning. I do, however, plan to find out."

"So do I, Captain. You're carrying a large payroll today."

"On top of our regulars, the Cruiser Vicksburg is coming in tomorrow morning. A lot of off-base Sailors, and many on-base, don't like to use the cards. They prefer greenbacks."

"Don't we all? How much?"

"We have about 890 'Kays' sitting in the vault, and for the moment it and all electronic payments are locked up tight until we find out why our Chief Disbursement Officer is laying on one of your slabs."

"We'll be coming over to talk to your people soon."

"NCIS is always welcome."

Gibbs takes the words, but ignores the dearth of sincerity.


	3. The First Answers

Chapter Three  
The First Answers

Ducky and Samantha, each pushing a gurney containing a black body bag, enter through the sliding doors into Autopsy and place each gurney beside a silver table. Ducky then goes to the air conditioning control, turning the power up all the way and setting the control for heavy filtered exhaust. He activates the 'Biohazard' warning, a red light begins flashing outside the sliding door. "I am not certain these precautions are necessary, as airborne particles should have dissipated long ago. However, we will utilize the most stringent precautions until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll send the uniforms and other samples from our unfortunate guests up to the Forensics Laboratory for analysis, with a warning to Abby Sciuto, our Forensic Scientist, to treat them as extremely dangerous. Meantime, you'll find scrubs folded in that room," he tells her, pointing to a silver door in the left corner of the room.

"Okay, Ducky," she says, trying to take in the entire room as she crosses it, endeavoring to familiarize herself with everything at once. Her brief moment of apprehension is quickly buried in what Ducky is beginning to recognize as a characteristic elation. He follows her to the supply room.

She opens silver door, finding stacks of equipment and more lining the walls, the middle of the room occupied by an x-ray and several other bulky machines. There are four stacks of folded blue material on the shelf to her right, reaching slightly higher than her head and she reaches up for the far right stack.

"Oh, not that one," Ducky says from the doorway. "Take from the set on the left. Mr. Palmer's size could not possibly fit you."

She takes a top half of the disposable material from the far left, lets it fall out and holds the top to her shoulders. The hem, which she supposes is a little more than hip length on the man before her, would make a passable dress. She looks up with a broad smile, glad not to have taken the larger size. "Was Mr. Palmer like Andre the Giant?"

"More like Jack Beanstalk."

She laughs and pulls a pair of Ducky's pants off the shelf, expecting she will have to turn up the cuffs. Turning to him, she asks: "Where can I change?"

"Oh, you can –," he hesitates, surprised not to have a ready answer. With Gerald Jackson and Jimmy Palmer, indeed with every Assistant he has ever had, the question has never been raised. Normally he and they would strip down to tee shirt before donning the top while tugging the bottom halves over trousers or else dispensing with pants, the routine so commonplace as to never be noticed. Looking at the young woman before him, clad in vest, blouse and calf length skirt, the question is suddenly very much an issue.

"You can change in here," he directs, starting to close the silver door and praying his hesitation was not as abysmally long as it had felt.

"Okay," she looks up at him with a grin, and Ducky feels he can almost read her thought behind that smile; she's probably thinking to admonish him not to peek!

When he steps out and closes the door he shakes his head, then looks across the room at the two sealed black body bags on gurneys beside the silver tables. "You gentlemen don't know how well off you are."

When she steps out a few minutes later, he sees that the blue pants are indeed turned up at the ankles, but his shirt, which always fits comfortably loose, is unfortunately quite snug across her chest.

He very determinedly resolves not to notice.

xx

The bodies of Lt. Cdr. John Megalo and PO3 William Clarke have been photographed and inspected clothed, then stripped, photographed again, washed, cleaned and x-rayed, Clarke's body has been placed into a cooler and Megalo's upon the first silver examination table. Ducky had not permitted his new Assistant to help in the stripping or preparation of the bodies, for if he's correct, the clothing the men wore is potentially lethal.

Instead, he wore heavier than usual gloves while removing the clothing and everything, including the gloves, going into clear plastic bags which he then sealed and placed a 'Biohazard' warning sticker upon each bag. They in turn were set aside until he can bring them up to the lab. Ducky had apologized to the young lady, but he was not going to risk her contact with anything as dangerous as he believes these articles to be, not until he knows she can be sufficiently cautious to work without close supervision.

Ducky and Samantha now stand on either side of Megalo's body, clothed in blue scrubs and latex gloves. Blue elastic caps cover their heads and plastic masks shield their faces, even though surgical masks protect their mouths and noses.

Unfortunately the scrubs, which fit him suitably, do not do so for his new charge, who has had to turn up the pants hems. The latex gloves leave a quarter inch of excess latex at the end of each finger, quite unsuitable for work. He supposes there must also be far more suitable sizes of scrubs he might order, for her breathing seems particularly cautious.

Perhaps he'll borrow a few sets from Jordan Hampton, he'll call her later, since any possible order will arrive well after Miss Sky's services have concluded.

x

"Would you excuse me for a moment, my dear?"

"Sure," she says brightly.

He enters the supply room in search of a possible box of smaller gloves, even though certain he'll be disappointed in his quest. Mr. Palmer is in charge of ordering supplies and is quite efficient, but maybe – just _maybe_ – a box of a smaller size had accidently gotten shipped sometime in the past and had gotten pushed to the back of the shelf. Unfortunately, such a fortuitous mistake has not occurred. He supposes he shall have to order - today - a set of Smalls, in addition to contacting Jordan Hampton in the City Morgue about an appropriate supply of scrubs.

Turning to leave, he sees Sky's clothing hung on a hanger hooked to the edge of the racks; vest, skirt _and_ blouse. The sight gives him an unpleasant pause with the realization that under her scrubs she is….

He quite firmly determines not to notice.

x

"Now, before we begin this phase," he instructs his young charge, "we first do an examination of the body, looking for anything that might help us to determine how he died. Looking at his body, what do you determine?"

"He could lose ten pounds?" she speculates in what he is quickly coming to recognize as quite persistent cheerfulness.

"A little late for that, I'm afraid. What else?"

This time his tone makes it clear that a second attempt at humor is not a good idea. "Well, I don't see any bruises, any wounds," she says, forcing down her enthusiasm. "He has these scratches on his left calf and what looks like a rash developing under his right arm. When we looked at the x-rays," she glances past him across the room to the lighted display panels, "I couldn't find anything wrong."

When she examines the naked body between them again, Ducky notices she doesn't look at one particular spot. Under the plastic shield, the blue cloth mask hides all but her pale blue eyes, and he sees several times that these eyes just flicker over that area to examine other parts more closely. He hates to point out that "You must not allow squeamishness to interfere with a thorough examination, Sammy."

"I know, Doctor," she still doesn't look, confining her vision to the upper end of his body, "I'm not squeamish, I've seen them before. It's just that there's a difference between limp and dead. I –" she frowns, bends to look more closely at the man's neck. "Doctor?"

Mallard comes around the head of the table so he can see more clearly. "What did you find?"

"I'm not sure it's anything, but look at this," she points to the left side of the man's neck. Lividity has already allowed much of the man's blood to settle to his back, buttocks and the backs of his legs, leaving the flesh in the upper side of his body quite pale and the back portion unusually red. The color of the settling blood is brighter pink than it should be, not the usual dark blue-grey discoloration they're used to. However, a two and a half inch section of his neck, just below his ear, remains several shades redder than the rest of his neck.

"Hmmm, it looks like a section of capillaries may have been damaged. In a living man, this might be the start of a small bruise. Its development seems to have been aborted not too long prior to death. How long?"

Sammy shrugs, recognizing that she is going to be tested at every phase. "Three minutes?"

"Close enough. A distinct bruise would have formed within four minutes."

"But it's red," she protests.

"Very good, Miss Sky. Whatever caused this incipient bruise occurred moments before his blood was affected."

"What happened?"

"That, my dear, is one of the many things we shall determine," he looks at the small table containing the implements they will require for the examination. "Please use that syringe; we will need to send a sample of his blood up to the lab."

x

Placing the needle at a spot on the lower half of Megalo's arm where the blood is most heavily concentrated, she draws a measure of blood into the tube. "Whoa! Who spiked the Kool-Aid?" She holds up the implement for Ducky to see. Rather than the deep color of normal blood or the deep blue of deoxygenated blood, this is bright cherry-red.

"No less than I'd expected. We are almost certainly dealing with a metabolic poison; Abby can tell us which."

"This is freaky," she sets down the syringe, not looking forward to touching it again.

"I want a sample of that reddened area of his neck as well," he looks at the tray beside the table, not finding the necessary equipment and recalling just how much he'd come to depend upon Palmer's efficiency. "Would you bring over some specimen jars? You'll find them on the second shelf, third to your right in the supply room."

"Sure thing," she looks down at the face of the corpse. "Don't you worry, John, Ducky and I are going to find out what happened to you." Reaching under her plastic face shield, she kisses her gloved fingertip through the blue cloth mask, touches the man's forehead, then crosses the room to the silver door.

Ducky stares after her, quite disconcerted; and not because she has spoken to the corpse. There is, after all, nothing unusual about that.

xx

"DiNozzo, what do you have on Megalo?"

"The Commander lived alone," DiNozzo reports crisply, reading from the data he'd compiled upon his monitor. The official Navy picture with corresponding data is still on the plasma screen to his right for all to see. "No apparent relationships, at least none noted at the moment." Interviews will discover dating habits and short term relationships; the official records only cover the highlights and barely that.

"He enlisted at 19, and he's coming up on his 20 year mark. He could stay in but he's already put in his retirement papers, effective after the 20th, on December 31. He's headed Disbursement at Norfolk for the past 4 years."

"Lee?"

At the touch of controls at her own computer, the image of Commander Megalo on the plasma screen between McGee's and DiNozzo's desks shifts to the side, that of a younger black man joining it. This man's formal portrait is that of a Petty Officer Third Class, the single red chevron on his sleeves enhanced by his rating and other insignia at his lapels which designates his assignment.

"Petty Officer William Clarke is 20 years old, unmarried, last resided at Culver Lake, New Jersey. No record of previous drug or alcohol use prior to enlistment, in fact nothing. Enlisted at 18, he's been assigned to Supply and works in Shipping and Receiving, in the warehouse."

"When we get to Norfolk, you and McGee check out S&R. Maybe Megalo was someone's target and Clarke was collateral damage; I want to rule out it being the other way around, or if someone was gunning for both of them."

He knows this is stretching credulity and probability to their very limits, but there are times he feels a certain kinship for a fictionalized detective, one of whose mottos was 'when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'

He gets up, leaving his desk. "Meantime, I'll see what Ducky has turned up."

xx

"Tell me about yourself," Ducky invites his new apprentice as they stand on either side of the widely spread torso of Commander Megalo.

"Er," she bites her lip, "well, you already know I'm going for my doctorate, though that's half a year away, but what I really want to be is an ME."

"A considerable challenge."

"I like challenges."

"The best Pathologists usually do. It is very expensive attending college these days."

"Oh _yeah_," she picks up her enthusiasm, "if not for the fact that my parents insisted I take every Scholarship test there was, I'd never afford it. I have a roommate, Karen and I share all the expenses. I have another job, and I can make up to three, four, five hundred dollars for an evening, so that helps quite a bit."

He's impressed. "What work pays that well?"

"I'm a Call Girl." She smiles at the expression in his eyes and explains: "There are a lot of men on the Hill who like them young, and I'm so small that, put me in a Catholic School uniform, I can pass for –" she's unable to continue, dissolving into giggles. "I'm so _sorry_, doctor, but the look on your face – I'm _kidding_, but you do 'astonished' so well!"

"I dare say," he's unable to decide how to react to this surprising young woman, but he feels quite relieved. Reconsidering, he decides the 'call girl' clearly was a joke, considering her earlier reaction to a particular part of the man between them.

"Actually, the truth is I _do_ make up to five hundred for a night's work, but it has nothing to do with sex. Rather, I–" she looks past him as the doors leading to the elevator slide open. "Hi, Agent Gibbs!"

x

Ducky turns, annoyed but not surprised to see the only man who would casually break quarantine without so much as a mask or pair of foot covers.

"Good morning," Gibbs replies, not used to being greeted with such high spirits, but he can be cordial, though intent on getting a report from the ME. "What did you find?"

"Oh! Commander Megalo seems to be pretty good – for a dead man – if you don't count cherry Kool-Aid blood," Samantha says brightly, cutting Ducky off and riding her usual enthusiasm, thinking his greeting and question both mean he's still addressing her. She steps away from the body so she can raise her protective face shield though she leaves the blue mask covering her mouth and nose. "His heart looks good; his liver's okay, but everything is so bright red it's really freaky. It's all from super-oxygenated blood. His lungs are really bad. I don't think he smoked, at least not much, but there a lot of damage and bleeding in his lungs. You've just _got_ to see them, they're just a mess and all just before he died, hemorrhaging no end. His liver doesn't show he drank too much, but it looks like it was dipped in cherry sauce. He still has his appendix and there doesn't seem to be any indication of any operations, at least one we could find. There were no injuries on the outside of his body but Ducky did remove a sample of flesh from his neck; it was redder than the rest of him was before lividity made much of a difference, remember? It looked like capillary damage just before death, you know, like when a bruise almost starts to form but doesn't? He has it in a specimen jar for your Forensic Scientist to examine. That was the only odd thing we found on the body before Ducky started to look inside. His last meal looks like …." Gibbs' hand, upheld for quite some time, finally brings her to a gradual stop.

x

"I was _speaking_ to Doctor Mallard," he tells her very firmly.

"Oh!" she realizes her enthusiasm has made her cross some unstated boundary. "I'm sorry sirs, just sometimes when I get so into things I just have to –" his stern glare finally breaks through her excitement, "shut myself up now," she finishes abashedly.

"No worries, Sammy," Ducky assures her, forcing down a smile that'd been hidden behind his mask. She really is enthusiastic, and something about her reminds him of a certain junior medical student who didn't _exactly_ have as much élan, but… well, Gibbs doesn't care for stories lately so he'll tell her later. "Would you please take care of cleaning those instruments while I give Agent Gibbs what he needs? You'll find the rubber gloves and cleansers in the left cabinet under the sink."

"Okay, Doctor Duck!" she says as she removes the shield and blue mask, leaving only the cap covering her short blonde hair. She tosses the cloth facemask and the latex gloves into the trash, then gathers up the used implements and crosses the room to the materials cleansing sink in the far right corner rather than the handwashing sink near the main door.

Ducky leads Gibbs over to the x-ray film displayed on the lighted panels.

"As you'll see on the x-rays, there are no indications of trauma nor any other," he hears the hot water running across the room and drops his voice, "Jethro, I will thank you not to be rude to my assistant."

Gibbs is surprised. On his 'rudeness meter' what he'd done doesn't even register, but he can see the man's point. The girl is only here for about four hours, hardly time enough to learn the rules. He can also remember what it was like to be young and new and enthusiastic – once – long ago – maybe.

But before Ducky can return to his report the doors beside them slide open and Abby enters.

Mallard sighs and decides he might as well turn off the Biohazard light.

x

"Hi Ducky, Gibbs," she greets them brightly, having seen through the door that, though the Biohazard lights are engaged, neither of the men are particularly protected so he probably just forgot to turn it off. Then she looks across the room to the blue scrubs clad man at the sink. His hair is also covered in a blue elastic cap so that the only thing she can see is a white neck. She's been looking forward all morning to meeting Sam Sky, finally deciding that if he's not going to come up to her any time soon with samples and introduce himself then she'll take the first step.

Though she speaks to the men before her, keeping her voice down, she doesn't take her eyes off the newcomer. "I heard you had a case, I was expecting some samples to analyze. Then I realized Sky might not know where the lab is."

He's a bit shorter than she'd hoped for. Ignoring the blue cap, she guesses his height to be only about five-two, a good five inches shorter than Ducky and eight below her own height even without her elevated shoes. But after dating Marty Pearson this is hardly a strike against him. She steps around Gibbs, her back to the new man, and her hands move in a brief, complex ballet.

*Tell me about him. Is he nice? Handsome?* She sees mild surprise in her friend's eyes, then Gibbs smiles.

*I think you'll like him.* he signs back.

*He's not married or anything, is he?*

Gibbs shrugs, returning a quick gesture, *Ask.*

She smiles in happy anticipation. *I will.* Revving up her charm, Abby turns and crosses the room to where the man has just turned off the water and is pulling off his rubber gloves. "Hi, Sam, I'm Abby."

He turns, 'his' face lighting up with a million-megawatt smile. "Hi, Abby!" she exclaims, "I'm Samantha, call me Sammy." Before Abby can move, she's pulled into a hug.

Abby's world tilts off its axis and she must right it, hugging the young woman – usually she's the one to initiate a hug – but over Samantha's head she turns to glare at Gibbs and uses the moment to return Earth to its proper position. She manages to recover from surprise, disappointment and no little annoyance enough to be able to mean what she says when Sky pulls back a second later. "Hi, Sammy, welcome to NCIS. I know we're going to be good friends."

"I sure hope so. Everyone here is so nice."

x

Abby allows her to pass, heading back to the table and the two men. Behind her, Abby communicates silently to Gibbs, allowing her face and the sharp gestures to display her annoyance. Seeing his smile, her silent gestures become even more obscure but convey much sharper meaning.

Fortunately for him, Ducky does not Sign.

Sammy picks up several jars and long plastic tubes, all in individual sealed plastic bags. She puts them in the large plastic basket containing the men's uniforms, turns and hands them to Abby. "Doctor – I mean Ducky was going to have me bring everything up at once when we were done," she tells her. "I know he wanted to introduce me to you properly," she conveys his Old World sensitivities quite well to Abby, "but I also suspect he wanted to keep an eye on me at first so I didn't wander off and get lost."

Abby glances up from signing each of the bags. "When you get a break from digging through the bodies, I'll take you on a tour."

"_Groovy_!"

Abby's pen slips and she regards the younger woman closely. "I don't know _anyone_ who says 'groovy' anymore. That is so '60's."

"It's always good for a double take."

"I'll bet," she looks to Ducky, "I'll let you know what I find." She starts toward the sliding doors.

"See ya," Sammy says brightly.

Abby can't resist, "Are you always so depressed?"

"Yeppers," she assures her.

"You're a strange puppy, Sammy."

"My folks say I was _born_ hyper."

"Ever try a 'Caf-Pow!'?"

"Oh no," Ducky's voice is a soft moan that only Gibbs hears.


	4. Disbursement

Chapter Four  
Disbursement

When Gibbs, DiNozzo and David are escorted into the office of the Station C.O., it is clear that Captain John Parker isn't happy to see them. Gibbs can't blame the Captain for his sour expression. Of late, when NCIS is obliged to come to Norfolk, people under this man's command die.

"What do you have for me, Gibbs?"

"Not a lot more than we discussed, Captain. After we interview your staff, I'll have more."

Parker's eyes are wary as he picks up a blue folder from his desk and passes it to Gibbs. "This is Megalo's Service Record, most of which I take it you already have." Everything about the man being on computer, he's sure that Gibbs and his agents have familiarized themselves with the details before starting over.

"We know he wasn't married, lived alone in Kalorama Heights, was approaching retirement and looking for work."

"Megalo's been in the Service almost 20 years, but we don't keep a man forever." At 52, Parker isn't inclined to look for greener pastures elsewhere, he'd long ago made his commitment to the Navy and anticipates going from this or another desk to his pension.

"He can get out with a good pension at twenty. Any idea why he _is_ getting out?" At 38 and as head of a division he could stay on, shoot for Commander. His salary and pension would increase accordingly. At 45 he could retire and still have a good twenty years in the private sector.

"He can stand to make a lot more than Navy pay on the outside. I'm guessing, from our conversations, that he just grew tired of handing out other people's paychecks and wanted to collect some good ones of his own."

That cynical if accurate assessment causes Gibbs to ask, "Is there any indication he was collecting a better paycheck on duty?"

"None. In fact, we were audited just two months ago. Squeaky clean, every penny where it belongs."

"How many people worked under him in Disbursement?"

"Fifty eight officers and enlisted men, four civilian Accountants. Lieutenant Patrick Moynihan is second and taking up the slack as the department reorganizes. I have Commander Letzkie supervising the changeover." Harold Letzkie is the Station XO.

"Do you have any idea who might have wanted the Commander dead?"

"No, but I didn't know him all that well. Disbursement is in building 78; they'd know him a lot better than I do."

xx

The Warehouse is only two blocks south of number 78, so McGee and Lee drove directly there while Gibbs, DiNozzo and David went on to Administration. When they enter the large facility which provides services for tens of thousands of men and women, they follow the directions of one of the staff and easily find the senior officer by the three chevrons on his shirt sleeves. They approach with badge and ID folders ready, reading the man's name embroidered to his shirt before they reach him.

"May I help you?" the Asian man asks.

"Petty Officer Ling, I'm Special Agent McGee, this is Special Agent Lee, NCIS. We'd like to ask you about Petty Officer William Clarke."

The wind seems to go out of Ling's sails. "Is it true what we heard, sir? Is Bill dead?"

"I'm afraid so, Petty Officer."

Ling blesses himself, for a moment his attention is not on the agents, then, "How, sir?"

"Well," McGee hates to appear uninformed, "we're not prepared to release that information yet. Do you know of anyone who saw him this morning?"

Ling glances about the huge space, then calls across it. "MacPhearson!"

The Seaman Recruit stacking boxes with two other men turns and wastes no time in obeying the summons of his superior. "Sir!" he reports crisply as soon as he reaches them, coming to attention and saluting.

Ling shakes his head, declining to correct the younger man. "Tell these NCIS Agents what you told me earlier."

MacPhearson turns his attention to the Agents and, not knowing how highly ranked the officers are, holds Attention and salutes. "Sirs!"

"Oh, at ease, Recruit," Tim says, "no need to salute us."

"Yes, sir." Still clearly preferring to err on the side of caution, MacPhearson comes to formal 'At Ease' and reports. "Sir, Madam, at 0713 this a.m. Petty Officer William Clarke and I were standing outside this facility when we were approached by Lieutenant Commander Megalo, who informed us that he needed a driver to convey him to a location on Army Navy Drive, hold station in wait for him and return him to the Station. As I was scheduled to commence Inventory at 0730, Petty Officer Clarke, whose duty commences at 0800, departed with the Commander to the motor pool. I reported to Petty Officer Ling that PO Clarke would be delayed in commencing his duties and why."

"A Lieutenant Commander doesn't rate a driver," McGee points out.

"Sir, those were his orders, Sir."

"All right. Why do you suppose he selected you or Clarke?"

"Sir, if I were to speculate, Sir, I would say we were the two closest to the vicinity of the Commander's post that were not at that moment engaged in other duties, Sir." The capitals are clearly distinguished in his words.

"Did either of you know the Commander well?"

"I did not, Sir. I cannot speak for Petty Officer Clarke."

"All right, thank you."

"Dismissed, MacPhearson."

"Sir, thank you, Sir." MacPhearson salutes, about faces and returns to his duties.

"MacPhearson?" Ling calls, his voice mild. The man turns again. "Inside."

"Oh, yes, sorry." He moves off quickly.

When McGee and Lee turn, there is a smile on Ling's face. He keeps his voice low. "He's just ten days out of Apprenticeship and striking here. He'll mellow," he glances across the warehouse at the departing Recruit, "or I'll mellow him myself."

When they leave, Lee looks up at McGee, "I'm sorry, sir, did I miss something?"

"Navy men don't salute indoors, that's Army." He can almost see her filing away this piece of information for later use.

xx

The Disbursement office is actually a suite of offices covering the entire third floor of building 78, Megalo's office and that of his XO are on that third floor. McGee and Lee join the others there and it is at the XO's office that they meet Lt. Patrick Moynihan. The tall, uniformed man is visibly stressed, the desk before him littered with assorted files.

"Come in, gentleman," he glances up a second time, "and ladies, sorry. Please excuse the mess; I've been gone two days and came back to _this_. Someone's going to hang!" he slaps a file folder down and abandons the desk to shake hands with them. "Let's forget formality; I'm sure none of us really have the time for it. You're here to investigate what happened to John?"

Immediately, the Investigators are concerned. If Commander Megalo was murdered, why is Moynihan's office in this condition? "Any idea who trashed the place?"

"None. I've been all over my staff, none of them would dare and they swear they didn't. Of course they all have good stories."

"You believe them?"

"I know them, Agent Gibbs. None of them are lying or I'd know."

"Is anything missing?"

"Not that I can find. I came in this morning to find someone had been messing with my files, using my computer, left me a mess that someone's going to swing for. I just got things halfway back into order when I got the call from Captain Parker about what happened." He glances back at the chaos. "Naturally, when he filled me in, I stopped working on sorting things out. I figured you'd want to see things before they're completely put back together."

They hope the answer will be in the material not yet sorted back.

"We were hoping you could fill in some details," Gibbs says.

Moynihan spreads his hands, "All that I have is yours;" he glances at the desk, "mess and all. I hope you brought a shovel."

"Shouldn't be that bad. When was the last time you saw the Commander?"

"Sunday. I wasn't expecting to see him today either, it's his RDO. Wednesdays are his 'Saturdays', my 'Mondays'."

"What were the conditions when you arrived?"

"File folders strewn across the desk, half the papers having fallen out, pages scrambled. That stack there," he indicates nine folders in a neat pile on the furthest left corner, "is what I put together before Captain Parker called, the rest was not quite as you see it."

"Did you notice any papers missing?"

"No; I'd been putting pages back into the correct folders, then I was going to inspect them properly."

"What are the folders?"

"Each is an End-of-Week transaction file: Daily spreads, weekly summaries, taxables, audits, income and disbursements. These all cover the last six and a half months."

"We'll need to have our Forensic Accounting Department look them over."

"Fine by me, we have everything on disk backup anyway. I can sit down with your men, walk them through it and we can see what's missing, if anything."

x

"How is Lieutenant Commander Megalo's office?"

"Neat as a pin. I looked in on it after I got the call, didn't touch a thing and locked it up tight. I don't normally have access, John's the only one of us with a key and he doesn't like anyone in his office when he's not there. But when it came down that he was dead I had Security unlock the door and give me the key. People were going to need access at all hours."

"So now you have the only key among the division staff?"

"Yes." Gibbs holds out his hand. Moynihan is not happy about it, but he surrenders the key. "It's half unfair, you'd think someone would hit his office rather than mine."

"What's the difference?"

Moynihan is about to answer but shuts himself up, resuming a moment later. "I see what you mean. This is the O.F.O.; Operational Front Office," he translates when he sees Ziva's curious look. "John's mostly Admin; his field right now extends far beyond Disbursement. These files are duplicates of what we have in Admin and Accounting, so that I can review without having to go down the hall and attract attention. Now we can use the other files to spot what's missing."

"Why do you have three sets?"

"Sometimes I like to make quiet reviews. I can get a better overall view that way. John's office is locked, only he had the key, as I said, aside from the MPs and Station Command. However, if someone did try to hit the files in the main room, I doubt they could get away with it unnoticed, and if they hit John's office they'd never be able to cover their trails."

"Why?"

Moynihan is about to answer, then reconsiders. "Best you see it."

Gibbs intends to. "We'll need to get pictures, prints, get a forensics team in here. Have you another office you can use?"

Moynihan seems about to protest, but gives it up. There's little point in saying anything, not when he can be overruled so easily, not just by the agent but by his own superiors. "I suppose I have to."

xx

Gibbs unlocks the door to Lt. Cmdr. John Megalo's office, leading Moynihan and the agents in. They find the room as it had been described, as neat and orderly as one might expect to find in an office supply catalogue. Another significant difference from Moynihan's enclosed office is the huge window behind the desk, overlooking the southeastern quadrant of the Station. The desk contains a blotter with huge calendar heavily filled in, laptop, telephone, pen holder, all in precise relationships to the desk and one another. The four filing cabinets are wooden rather than metal and blend into the room. The books on the shelves on the right wall are arranged by size and color. Aside from Megalo's, there is a single chair opposite the desk and to Gibbs' view it is exactly aligned to the lines of the desk.

"Last time I was in a Navy office like this," DiNozzo begins, then reconsiders. "Strike that, I don't think I've _ever_ been in a Navy office like this. Compared to Megalo, Faith Coleman from JAG's a slob."

"Is it always so neat?" Gibbs asks.

Moynihan needs a moment to answer, his eyes are locked upon the leather executive chair behind the desk of his former commander. "If anything, John was particular about his work. He spent the last half hour of every day tidying up. I used to think– well, that is, I used to think of practical jokes that aren't appropriate anymore." He forces his attention away from the chair behind the desk and to Gibbs.

"I suppose you could say John was a little idiosyncratic, but he was a good boss, and you couldn't ask for a better man at your back. I know that might seem different to those on the field, the closest we come to a mortar shell is paying for it, but he was a man we could depend on."

"Commander Megalo called someone on base this morning, the call was routed through the main exchange."

"He didn't call me, he'd have used my office or cell."

"Did you know he was retiring and looking for a civilian job?"

Gibbs is certain the man's surprise is genuine. "_No_. I had no idea." He looks back at the empty chair behind the desk. "Why didn't he say anything?" After a few moments he turns back and Gibbs can read equally real distress in his eyes. "He'll really be missed. He was a good boss."

"Anyone here feel differently about him?"

"Wait a minute– Do you suspect someone on my staff?"

"This is a murder investigation, Lieutenant. I suspect everyone from the C.O. to the Recruit who feeds the guard dogs."

xx

Ziva is left to photograph the room and Lee to do the same in Moynihan's office as McGee begins an inspection of the late Commander's laptop as well as Moynihan's potentially infiltrated one. DiNozzo accompanies Gibbs and Moynihan down the corridor. "Is there a room near the Accounting Office where we can speak to your staff one at a time? After we finish the interviews, I'll let you know what to do with each of them."

"Don't you want to speak to them all at once?" Moynihan asks, feeling hopes of his people returning to work anytime soon about to be dashed.

Gibbs restrains a smile at the man's naiveté as well as he may. "No."

"PO1 Hopkirk has a small office to the rear corner."

"That'll do.

Though he would like to have McGee's expertise in computer forensics, if he has to wait there is little more to do. He doesn't worry about anyone changing any records; as of this morning all work has ceased – and McGee would find any changes in very short order.

When they arrive in the huge room covering most of the third floor, enough for over 60 people to work comfortably and efficiently, it's to the sight of thirty nine men and twenty three women who can't leave post and have absolutely nothing to do. There's little need for this concern; Gibbs has plenty in mind to keep them occupied.

He doesn't react to seeing a roomful of people assembled together; there's no point about being concerned with Rule Number One. He can, at least, interview them in isolation and ensure that they don't discuss the interviews with anyone by directing Hopkirk to confine each to quarters afterwards with orders to silence.

After brief introductions are made, Gibbs and Moynihan bring the first subject to the small office in the rear. DiNozzo stands in on the interviews, another pair of eyes, but positions himself unobtrusively in a corner, observing but not observed.

x

When Seaman Apprentice Tom Corman is seated in front of the desk that Gibbs has commandeered, the interrogator begins the first of a series of similar conversations.

"Seaman Corman, how long have you worked with Lieutenant Commander Megalo?"

"Seven months, sir."

Gibbs can read the man's discomfort and apprehension as though it were a sign printed across his forehead.

"What are your duties?"

"Accounting, sir. This office handles not just Disbursement but has been taking on most of the Station's finances."

"Is that unusual?" To Gibbs it is.

"Yes, sir, but the Commander was a progressive sort. He didn't hold with the idea there should be more than one division handling the finances of the Station. He wanted to prove we were capable of handling the entire load."

"And are you, Seaman? Capable?"

"I like to think so, sir. I handle my job."

"Cool under pressure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why are you sweating?"

"I'm not sweating, sir.

"Yes, you are."

It is barely a few drops, but he is reluctant to admit it is because "I'm nervous, sir."

"Why are you nervous?" He can think of a number of reasons.

"Well, sir, we heard that the Commander died off-base, that someone else died too, but no one seems to know anything. Then our entire division is shut down, no answers and we can't even discuss it with each other. Petty Officer Hopkirk ordered us to keep our mouths shut and finally NCIS arrives and I'm the first one you pick on. I haven't done anything, sirs."

x

Attentive to his face and more, Gibbs believes him. "Do you have any idea why Commander Megalo is dead?"

"I don't know."

"Does Petty Officer Hopkirk know?"

"I don't know, sir, I swear. He was called out into the hall by Lieutenant Moynihan, came back thirty seconds later and told us no one is to say a word about what happened until NCIS got here."

Gibbs glances at Moynihan, who nods in confirmation. He'd have liked for them to be sequestered from one another, but keeping them silent and monitored – he'll take what he can get.

"Did you know Commander Megalo was retiring and looking for a civilian job?" He can read the man's surprise for the genuine emotion it is.

"No sir. We didn't really speak a lot off duty. Almost all our conversations were about work."

"Did you break into Lieutenant Moynihan's office?"

The question hits like a fist to the head, which had been Gibbs' intention, but Corman rallies. "No sir."

"Ever use his computer?"

"No sir."

"Never?"

"No sir."

"Who did?"

"I don't know, sir."

"All right, Seaman, we're done for now."

"Return to your quarters," Moynihan orders, "discuss this with no one. I'll let you know when you can return to duty."

"Yes, sir." Corman rises, salutes and leaves.

"Who's next?"

xx

And so it goes, over several hours, from the oldest staff member who had been on duty for eight years to the newest at fifteen days, all telling essentially the same story and with the result of an overwhelming lack of distinctive suspects at the end. No one, not even PO1 Hopkirk, knew that Megalo was retiring, nor did they know of anyone who would have a reason to hasten that retirement. In all, Megalo is remembered as a fair man, supportive of his staff and knowledgeable about his job but not someone who shares his personal life, at least not with subordinates.

"To tell the truth," Lt. Moynihan says when they're alone, "_I_ didn't know he was retiring. We interacted most closely of anyone but he never mentioned it. He was the kind who kept plans to himself. He'd tell you when he'd made up his mind about something or when personal plans were settled, but not before."

"It must have made for a difficult working environment, you being XO and out of the loop."

"Not as much as it's going to."

"For a 'good boss', isn't that somewhat unusual?"

"Yeah. Very. I mean, it's not like John to drop this place into my lap."

"You would have taken over?"

Moynihan shrugs. "I haven't been told anything different," he can reply truthfully. "Unless someone else has been tagged, and no one's told me _that_ either, yes, I'm next in line."

"Good luck."

xxx

Back in Captain Parker's office, Gibbs has more questions. "How far along are the financial rearrangement plans?" Numerous personnel had referred to the plans, but it was only in integrating the stories that Gibbs had a clear picture.

"We're set to have everything phased over in the next five months, with integral assessments at each phase. Staff is being reassigned to integrate as each Department crosses over and comes on-line. We expect the changeover to be complete by the spring.

"And this was Commander Megalo's idea?"

"He proposed the change over two years ago."

"Interesting time to be retiring, just as his proposal is coming into effect."

"Yes, but the wheels of change move slowly, and I guess he got tired of waiting. But Lt. Moynihan's a good man, he'll bring everything up to speed."

"Megalo made a call to this Station just before he was killed. Any idea who he might have spoken to?"

"To me."

"He routed it through the main number."

"That's the protocol; you want to reach me on trivia, you go through channels. Megalo just wanted to update me on his job-hunt progress. He told me he was feeling confident about this morning's interview."

"And when he does leave, Moynihan moves up?"

"That's right."

"This seems to be news to Moynihan," Gibbs says with faux casualness, hoping to prompt a denial, but Parker's surprise turns grim.

"I don't see how that can be, I've known for months. The paperwork had to go through the Career Counselor, the Command Master Chief, Commander Letzkie and then me, then I sent it back to the CC. I haven't spoken to Moynihan, been too busy but there's no way for him not to know. Megalo had to have kept him firmly in the loop."

"Funny how no one seems to have mentioned it to him."

Parker, if anything, turns grimmer. "We seem to have different definitions of what's 'funny'."


	5. On an Azide

Chapter Five  
On an Azide

Gibbs leads his team up to the house owned by the late John Megalo and uses the key from his personal effects, obtained from Abby earlier, to enter. The door opens into a foyer, thence to the living room, which is as orderly as his office.

"Neat freak is one thing," DiNozzo says, "but not even _Coleman_ could be this bad." The JAG Lieutenant had been a fertile source of fun, but there were limits.

"Some people just like to know where things are," Gibbs counters. He's seen DiNozzo's apartment.

"This guy could tell us where every atom is."

"McGee, track down his computer, see what you can turn up. DiNozzo, photos, then sketch."

"I think I can get us a spread in 'House and Gardens', get a few dollars for our operating budget."

"When you're done with the portfolio for your new job, start doing this one."

xx

A thorough inspection of the rooms turns up few items of interest. Generally they discover an orderly person, which comes as no surprise after they'd seen his office. Every room is devoted to a specific use, be it living room, kitchen, den, bedroom, home office – and not once do they discover any extraneous item. Everything, no matter what it might be, is relegated to the room one would expect the item to be in.

When Gibbs enters the home office, he finds McGee focused upon an examination of the man's desktop computer. "What did you find?"

"Megalo visited three other Accounting firms in the Washington area in the past four months, applying for positions. I have the list of who he saw. His financial records are what I'd expect of an experienced Accountant. Bills paid on time, a few credit cards to be paid up, certainly no outstanding debts to anyone who might use an exotic metabolic poison to settle the account."

"You'd be amazed how far some bill collectors will go."

On the whole, however, this is little more than Gibbs had expected either. He decides to have David and Lee, when they're done with their respective investigations, check out these three companies where Megalo has interviewed.

xxx

Ziva and Michelle park across the street from the Hotel Meritz, Ziva quite unhappy to be assigned to revisit this building. For her, this is where her life changed, took a wrong course and wounded her heart. No, not wounded; she'd given her heart freely here and for months it had seemed the right thing to do. Only now does she know it was a mistake, for she can still feel the blood gushing from the gaping wound.

"Let us just finish this interview and _leave_!" she says as she leads the smaller woman across the street.

Michelle, not understanding her sharp bitterness, decides it is safer not to ask.

Ziva stalks to the front desk, her shield already in her hand.

"May I help you?" the maroon jacketed Reservations Clerk inquires.

"Ziva David, NCIS," she declares, displaying her shield and ID. "We are looking for Elizabeth Smernoff's room."

"Does she know you're coming?"

Seeing Ziva start to move in, Michelle, as quickly as she can, steps between Ziva and the counter. "Sir, I really think it would be a _very_ good idea for you to give us the room number."

The clerk, seeing the sincerity in the smaller woman's eyes and the fire in her taller companion's, consults his computer and says "617."

xx

Ziva raps on the door, holding her emotions in check as tightly as she may. It is the fault of no one here that her life had been so changed and then damaged, she just wishes to conclude this assignment and leave.

"Who is it?" a woman's voice comes from close to the door. Ziva can tell she is being observed through the small fisheye lens in the door.

"Officer Ziva David and Special Agent Michelle Lee, NCIS," she declares sharply. "Ms. Smernoff, we spoke briefly today at Jackson and DeTait."

They hear the sounds of several locks being undone; then the door is opened by a blonde woman. "Yes?"

"Ms. Smernoff, we are trying to determine what might have happened to the gentleman we discussed yesterday." Ziva feels she is reciting from a script, definitely not the way she is inclined to do the investigation.

"You mean the Navy man?"

"Yes."

"What can I tell you?"

xxx

An hour later, Ziva is able to make her report to Gibbs in the Squad Room. "Elizabeth Smernoff lives in West Virginia; this is her first time in Washington. She arrived late last night and went this morning to a business meeting with Jackson and DeTait. She is employed by Sullivan and Cromwell; her company does business with J&D. She checked in last night and is leaving this evening. Though she is the last one to see Commander Megalo alive, she claims to know nothing of him other than as a man on a cell phone standing in her way as she entered the office building this morning. They exchanged no words other than 'excuse me' and 'sorry', and there seems to have been nothing notable about the Commander at that time."

This supports the testimony of the lobby guard and, in Gibbs' view, closes her connection to the case.

For now.

xxx

Abby places a drop of dilute hydrochloric acid onto the skin sample in the Petri dish on the table before her, followed by a drop of ferric chloride solution. She then holds the dish by a set of tongs over a low flame from her Bunsen burner, gratified to see the sample turn red.

She glances at the door to her right, hearing the elevator open. Gibbs stops at the lab door, fully expecting the reinforced glass portal to slide aside and quite annoyed when it does not. "Sorry, Gibbs, you can't come in without the password."

After dealing with a surprise from Ducky and the secrets of Lt. Cavaluzzi in the Butterfly incident three weeks ago, he's not in the mood for any more 'passwords'. "And _what_ is the password?"

"The password," she says with a broad smile, thinking back to the old game show, "is 'sodium azide', but you still can't come in yet. It's not airborne, but give me another minute."

She places a cover over the dish, turns off the burner, puts the dish onto a tray and seals a lid over it. Then she picks up the remote control and presses a button, allowing the door to slide aside. Gibbs steps up to her, looking at the red stained skin sample.

"Sodium azide?"

"Yep, one of the deadliest topical poisons known to womankind," she smiles prettily. "Did you know that of all the famous murders involving women, 50 percent were done by poisoning?"

"Another Ducky I don't need."

"You can't ever have enough duckies, just so long as you keep them in a row."

If anything, her amusement at his glare is even broader. "Sodium Azide is NaN3, one of a group of explosive compounds, all of which contain three doubly linked nitrogen atoms. The nitrogen can be attached to a metal, such as lead, or to various organic groups. They're really sensitive to shock and heat and must be used with great care. It was on Megalo's face and on this spot on his neck, and also on Clarke's mouth – he probably got it when giving CPR. He probably thought the wetness was sweat from the supposed heart attack. Probably a lot of it was, Megalo must have been scared to death – so to speak – but once he touched it _and_ breathed it in he was a goner."

x

She points to the Petri dish, one of two on the tray. "When you add hydrochloric acid to sodium azide and heat it, you get hydra_zoic_ acid, which is why it turned red.

"Now nitrogen combines with other elements only at very high temperatures or pressures. It's converted to an active form by passing through an electric discharge at low pressure. The nitrogen produced is very active, combining with alkali metals to form azides; with the vapor of zinc, mercury cadmium, and arsenic to form nitrides; and with many hydrocarbons to form hydrocyanic acid and cyanides, also known as nitriles. Activated nitrogen returns to ordinary nitrogen in about one minute, which is why the vapor is as deadly as the contact liquid.

"It's absorbed quickly through the skin, gets into the cells, and immediately prevents the cells from using oxygen. No matter how fast or hard you breathe, even if you were being fed pure O-two, no cell in the body can use it and you suffocate. It's just like cyanide, only a lot worse I think because you don't have to swallow it. Touch it, breathe it; whether liquid or gaseous, once you're exposed you're finished."

"So why did Megalo and Clarke turn pink?"

"That's because the blood is rich in oxyhemoglobin; by the time blood reaches skin level it's normally drained of some oxygen, except this time. You see, the moment blood leaves the lungs it's already being absorbed by cells as the arteries and capillaries carry the blood to every part of the body. If you're going to die, your cells make one last ditch effort to survive and _rip_ every atom of oxygen from the blood, which is why you get the blue grey color you're so familiar with. Now sodium azide is like cyanide or a couple other azides I can name, it links with red blood cells and reacts to the iron in the cytochrome oxidase enzyme needed for a cell to use oxygen. The hemoglobin and azide mix to form cyanohemoglobin, which is bright red, but it shows pink through the skin.

"Bottom line, the oxygen is packed in the blood cells and the body can't use it. If you put him in a tank and fed in pure O-two, he'd suffocate from oxygen depletion in under two minutes."

x

"Where would someone get this stuff?" Something this deadly must be very tightly controlled, and as such should be very easy to trace.

"Metal plating shops, especially gold and silver places. A pretty common place is in air bags. That's easy, because no one would notice if you're buying air bags; and they're everywhere. When one deploys, it has to be replaced. No one at the store bats an eye when they sell them."

So much for tight controls, but he's still outraged at the ease with which a murderer could obtain a supply, especially from "Air bags?"

"Within the air bag assembly is a metal container with pellets of sodium azide. When it's ignited it produces nitrogen gas, that's what pops the bag out in zero point one seconds."

"But it's a poison."

"That's _right_," she says with great relish which Gibbs can do without.

"So you're telling me that every time an airbag deploys, it's done using a metabolic poison that can kill me in a few seconds?"

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

xxx

"Megalo and Clarke were killed by a metabolic poison," Gibbs says as he strides into the bullpen, "sodium azide."

"I don't suppose Abby said how?" DiNozzo asks with very little hope.

"That's what you get paid the big bucks for."

"Could be bigger," he looks up in time to see Gibbs' glare. "Researching sodium azide!"

"McGee, what did you find in those computers?" He had been assigned to investigate both Megalo's and Moynihan's. Each had been secured in the Evidence lockup, the contents of the drives have been mirrored onto McGee's much higher capacity drives.

"Each had a twenty gig hard drive, Megalo's had 40% free space, Moynihan 55%. Aside from the operating systems, every byte is taken up by accounting and other official business."

"That's unusual?" he asks, picking up on the man's tone.

"Well, yeah. There's nothing personal on them at all, absolutely no extraneous data whatsoever."

"They're business machines, McGee; they're not supposed to have personal stuff on them."

"Yeah, but we all do it; correspondence, notes,"

"Book plots," Ziva cuts in bitingly.

"Internet porn," DiNozzo chimes in.

"Don't make it necessary for me to check your computer, DiNozzo."

"Clean as a baby's bottom, boss."  
Gibbs' look is enough to say 'you've never had kids'.

x

"My _point_," McGee tries to recapture the floor, "is that the common man, faced with a resource like a computer, especially one connected to the web, simply can't resist the urge to store extraneous stuff on it."

"I don't."

"I said 'common man', boss. You're not a common man."

"Thanks, McGee." But it's time to end the bantering. "What you're saying is that if one in a million men doesn't do it, what are the chances of having two of them in the same office?"

"Exactly. And we don't even need those, because on one of them everything extra was erased."

"Which _one_?" His tone demands 'you couldn't say that first'?

"Megalo's. It's too clean."

"How so?"

"The contiguous sectors commence immediately after the F.A.T and Directory structure and are unbroken through over 99 percent of the drive. The non-contiguous sectors are isolated at the last 1 percent and the date stamps–"

"McGee?"

"Er, yes, boss?"

"You went to MIT, I joined the Corps. English!"

"It looks like the entire drive was erased, wiped with DOD algorithms, which overwrites all data several times with ones and zeros, then the drive was selectively restored from backups. It would have lined everything up in a row from start to finish, better than a defrag."

"How long ago?"

"The newly saved files are at the end and start fragmenting from that point. The time stamp on the oldest of them is one hundred sixteen days ago."

"Lee, when did Megalo file for termination?"

"September 6."

"Close enough," McGee confirms.

"His tour is up at the end of the year," Ziva says. "It looks like he was cleaning up more than his office."

"McGee, any way to know what was left out of that restore?"

"Not without the backups."

"There was nothing in his office," Ziva reminds them.

"Or in his home," DiNozzo points out. After the interviews on the base, they had thoroughly checked the late Commander's home and found it more orderly than the office. It's also a considerable distance away for a second trip.

"DiNozzo, David, in the morning you swing back out there and take the place apart."

"Fine with me, boss, the neat freak stuff creeps me out. It's like spending time with Coleman again." The JAG Commander had made herself DiNozzo's favorite target during the investigation into the murder of Lt. Loren Singer, but this is no longer funny.

xxx

Abby turns to the lab door when she hears it open and sees Ducky's new assistant step in, now wearing her own clothing; white blouse paired with brown vest and skirt. Her wide eyes are alight as she takes in the room.

"Oh, _wow_, the _Batcave_!" she takes in the black clad scientist, "you must feel like Batgirl, solving crimes in this place!"

"I did investigate Batgirl's murder here," she assures her, referring to the disguised Leslie Greene, whose body had been found over Memorial Day weekend at the Hotel Maritz.

"You're _kidding_."

"Nope, I'll tell you all about it sometime."

Sammy continues looking about, Abby made quite proud by the other's fascination. "I could spend all day in here."

Abby glances at the clock on the wall. It is well after two, and now that she's distracted from work she realizes how hungry she is. "Are you on lunch?"

"A late one. Doctor Mallard said to be back in an hour, he's gone to do some shopping. He got some gloves from another department.

"Should've said something, I could've leant you a box."

"Gloves are one thing, I actually have extra-smalls at home–"

"Whatdaya do at home?" Abby asks salaciously.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Sammy gives an equally sex-charged grin, but then it fades. "Actually, GWU so rarely keeps in a good supply I just gave up and bought a few boxes of my own. But his shirt is long on me–."

"And tight," Abby quips, hardly able to have missed it.

"Yeah," Sammy admits with a shrug. "But the others, I can use any of his other partner's scrubs shirts for a dress."

Recalling Gerald, Jimmy and then the brief tenure of Patrick Harper, Abby has no doubt.

"After lunch, we're going to start working on Petty Officer Clarke."

"Then let's grab a bite, and I'll give you a quick tour."

x

"Ducky is just so fascinating!" Sammy exclaims as they head to the elevator and up to the café. "I've never met anyone like him. My professors – well, I wish I had him instead. They're so one-tracked they can be deadly, which isn't so great when you're teaching Pathology and can use yourself as a teaching tool. Do you know that just this morning I learned about azides and testing for the different varieties, the Zionist movement and the historical significance of Masada, crystal meth, the Polynesian natives, Scottish curling, tossing a caber, the development of the hypodermic, the Peruvian Incas _and_ the relationship of eye and hair color to multiple births, especially in quadruplets and higher?"

"Oh, he's just getting started," Abby assures her, mentally reeling from the list and wondering how the young woman could have taken it all in in one morning's standing.

"I can't wait to get back!"

"Really?"

"_Yeah_!"

"Some people actually find his digressions … tedious."

"No _way_!"

"Oh, he's going to love you."

"I _hope_ so."

"I know so."

xx

Abby leads Sammy across the Café to a table, each of them setting trays down. Normally Abby would not trust the food prepared here, but it would be rude to have brought up her own lunchbox, so she risks some BBQ chicken and vegetables. Sammy had selected a bowl of shrimp bisque and some crackers. "I don't like anything filling when I have my hands inside someone's body."

Abby is unable to restrain a smile, the words having sparked a mental picture of an entirely different sort. "So!" she says quickly to cover, "tell me a bit about yourself."

"What would you like to know?"

"Well, what made you get into Forensic Pathology?"

"You mean, what are my qualifications?"

"Well," she hadn't intended it to have come out that way. It sounds so - interrogative, but, "I guess so."

Sammy adopts an especially cultured tone. "Ah! Well, I attended Juilliard, I'm a graduate of the Harvard Business School. I travel extensively," her words are suddenly very familiar and rise to grow louder and more discordant, "I lived through the Black Plague, and I had a pretty good time doing that. I've seen the Exorcist _a hundred and sixty seven times _and it keeps getting _funnier every single time I see it_! Not to mention the fact that you're _talking to a dead gal_! Now what do _you_ think?" Her voice lowers from the near hysterical volume that has turned heads throughout the room as she leans in toward Abby. "You think I'm qualified?"

Abby would answer except that she's laughing too hard, and from about the room comes a smattering of applause. Sammy takes a small seated bow.

"You just bet I do, Betelgeuse. Remind me not to ask anything deeper."

"Oh, I'm just getting started," Sammy assures her with a grin.

"That's what worries me."

xxx

"DiNozzo, you got that list of metal shops yet?" Gibbs demands.

"Still working on it, Boss, there are a lot of places that use the stuff. I don't even think the Probie's done with jewelry houses," he says in an effort to distract his impatient supervisor's attention to somewhere else. Anywhere else.

"Ziva, any clues as to how Megalo was infected?"

"Abby and Ducky both give us a window of a minute. Sodium azide is deadlier than cyanide because it is a contact poison and need not be ingested. Breathing does it as well as touch, which is probably what helped to do in Petty Officer Clarke."

"How much of the stuff are we talking about?"

"That is another problem. Mixed with water, a few grains are enough to kill all of us. It is not like looking for 100 pounds of C4 or some other controlled substance. Sodium Azide is virtually uncontrollable; you could mix it in your kitchen sink if you were brave enough."

"Nope," they are distracted by a familiar voice outside the bullpen. They look up in time to see Abby enter. "Worst thing you can do. Wash it down the drain, it'd probably explode."

"Hi, Abby," DiNozzo says, "glad you could stop by." He is glad of anything that will distract an aggravated and frustrated Gibbs, and especially pleased to see she's not alone.

"This is Ducky's new assistant, Sammy Sky," she announces, presenting the younger blonde at her left.

"We've met," Gibbs counters, not wanting to get off track.  
"Oh."

DiNozzo steps out from behind his desk. "So, you're our new M.E."

"Actually, I'm your MEPT."

"MEPT?"

"Medical Examiner Pro Tempore."

"You could have fooled me, you're a natural."

Samantha hesitates, not certain how to answer. She can hear every bit of his suave pick-up, but how to tell him she's not interested? "I'm – well, I'm working on my MD and want to specialize in Forensic Pathology, but I'm only Interning; doing on-site training until Mr. Palmer comes out of the hospital. I'm only here for the rest of the week."

"It could be a good week."

"I'm counting on it," she assures him, trying to ignore the suggestiveness in his tone. "Everyone's so nice here, and if Doctor Mallard sends in a good report it'll help my grades."

"Perhaps I could help you with your studies."

x

She looks up at him, unable to dismiss his tone or suggestiveness any longer, but her smile is sweet rather than amused. "I'm so sorry, Agent DiNozzo," she tells him with deeply sad eyes, "but Doctor Mallard _did_ tell me I can't talk to you without supervision. I can't imagine why," she finishes disingenuously, her smile intended to take away the sting. Actually, she's long ago figured out the reason she has been directed to steer clear of NCIS' most famous Lothario.

"But come on, you know Ducky was only joking."

"I don't know," she admits with visible apprehension, "I'm only here for a few days. Mr. Palmer gets out of the hospital the day after tomorrow so unless you guys work weekends that's my last day. Doctor Mallard hasn't mentioned anything else. I really need a good grade so I figure I'd better err on the side of caution, and it _sounds_ like you're trying to ask me out on a date."

"And if I am?"

She looks up at the towering agent who tops her by over twelve inches. "I'm really _sorry_, Agent DiNozzo," she says with utter sincerity and regret, "but I never date anyone as tall as you. I've tried it and it just makes sixty-nine _way_ too difficult."

DiNozzo's mouth falls open as Abby tugs Sammy and the grinning women leave very quickly indeed, and even against the looks his colleagues give him he cannot manage to close his mouth.

Even Gibbs, who'd been ready to walk over and give Tony a wakeup call that would shave the back of his head, has to admit it wouldn't have topped Sky.

x

"You _rule_, girl!" Abby exclaims when they pass the stairs leading to the MTAC balcony and head for the back elevator.

"I had to turn him down – I do _not_ date at work, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings."

"Believe me, nothing can break Tony's ego."

"The other one was cute though. He could make me break a rule or two."

"Which other one?"

"Agent Magoo."

Abby grins. "McGee. Tim McGee."

"Really? I could've _sworn_ this morning that Agent DiNozzo called him Mag – ahhhh."

"DiNozzo and McGee have an interesting working relationship."

"So, is he seeing anyone?"

"Down, girl," she admonishes with a smile, recalling a similar conversation with Dawn Caldwell so many months ago; "he's dating his High School sweetheart. Between you, me and the woodwork, I'm betting they get hitched."

"That serious?" she looks back toward the Squad Room.

"You have _no_ idea. I'd introduce you, but she's only here on Tuesdays, you just missed her."

"She works for NCIS?" Sammy thinks back to her rule she'd quoted regarding DiNozzo.

"Yep."

"But only on Tuesdays?"

"She has … another posting," Abby assures her, determined that if she can she'll save the encounter for a surprise.


	6. Revelation

Chapter Six  
Revelation

Reverend Siobhan O'Mallory had been up in time to serve 6:00 Morning Prayer and is looking forward to a quiet late afternoon and early retirement, but just as she shuts the door to the office she shares with George Donaldson, looking forward to getting upstairs and getting some rest, the cell phone attached to her belt starts to vibrate. She pulls it off and opens it. "Hello, Mother O'Mallory."

/Hi./

There is only one person who would greet her so informally, even had she not recognized the voice. "Hi, yourself."

/What are you doing this evening?/

"Nothing, planning on getting to bed early."

/Great!/

Even alone in the hall, she blushes, more disconcerted because it's not all embarrassment. "How about _you_?" she urges, trying to distract him, "I thought you had a big case."

/Boy, do we have a case, plenty of clues that point everywhere and nowhere./

"Awww, poor baby," she grins. If there is anyone in NCIS she can mercilessly tease about something so serious, it is Timmy McGee.

/Want to go out this evening?/

Much as the thought appeals to her, "Timmy, I really don't feel up to getting all dressed up for a night on the town. It's been a long day."

/Neither do I, how about jeans and flannels and a burger at Mickey D's? I'll pick you up at 7./

She can think of a worse way to spend an hour. "Sounds wonderful; I'll be waiting. Slan agat," she wishes him 'goodbye'.

/Slan leat./

"Very good."

/You're a good teacher./

xxx

The few hours that follow are used in gathering additional data as well as compiling and analyzing what has already been learned. They are busy hours for everyone, but tedious for only one barely patient leader. Gibbs, at the end of Alpha shift, considers whether he should keep his staff on for a few more hours. He could press in hopes of a break, or let them address the matter fresh in the morning.

It is with considerable reluctance that he chooses the latter.

xxx

At 1810 Ducky gets off the elevator on the third floor of Bethesda. As both an MD and ME, he can walk about in any hospital at his pleasure, not that the experience ever does bring pleasure. He doesn't have to stop to inquire as to his destination, he's been here every day for too long, yet he's quite unsurprised to push the room door open and find Michelle Lee already seated on a chair on the other side of Jimmy Palmer's bed. Their greetings as he enters are an unconscious duet.

He turns his attention to his assistant. "I'm sorry I'm late, there was a lot of work to do this evening. How are you feeling, my boy?"

"Okay," Jimmy Palmer tells him, pushing aside the tray holding a completely unfulfilling meal. The bandages around his neck have gradually been reduced from thick padding to thinner varieties, but his neck will be covered for at least two more weeks. "They tell me another two days and I can go home." He exchanges a look with Michelle, who returns his smile, but the older man does notice that when Jimmy turns back to him, Michelle's smile disintegrates.

"You shouldn't rush it, my boy," Ducky admonishes, stepping to the foot of the bed and picking up the chart hanging from the rail and scrutinizes it narrowly, satisfied with what it tells him.

"I'm fine, I've been lying on my back for three weeks drinking fruit juices and eating mash, there's nothing _wrong_ with my throat. The bullet went right through a month ago."

Ducky finds it interesting, as he replaces the chart on the hook, that in the space of a breath a mythical fourth week has materialized. Also, the damage to his neck is still not 'nothing', it will be several weeks yet before he is fully healed. "Anxious to get back to work?"

"I have a couple of things on my mind I want to take care of _as soon as_ _I'm out of here_." He glances to Michelle at his left. Her smile is bright and encouraging, and as brief as his eyes upon her.

"You should just relax, don't try to rush into things," he advises, wondering at the undercurrent between the young couple.

"I hear you have a new replacement for me."

"Temporary _only_," Ducky insists.

"I don't think I remember your mentioning you've ever had a woman assist you."

"She's the first." He refrains from pointing out that it had not been a pleasant surprise. Had he read the University's file a little more closely, had he bothered to even _look_ at 'Sex' after reading the name, had _they_ bothered to use 'Samantha' instead of 'Sammy'….

"When I heard, I figured you wouldn't be so quick to want me back."

"Heaven forbid."

"Is she pretty?"

Ducky knows full well that Palmer, through Miss Lee, knows the answer to this question, his tone gives him away. "Yes." He truly does not want to get into a conversation on the young woman's charms.

"How is she?"

"She's … enthusiastic," he grants. "I do not recall meeting anyone with such joie de vivre. However, I live in dread of Abby's introducing her to 'Caf-Pow!'."

"Is she that bad?"

x

Ducky considers the question. He has to admit, in all honesty, that the young woman's enthusiasm and joie de vivre take a little – a great deal – of getting used to, but he could hardly call her 'bad'. She does talk to their guests, absolutely nothing wrong with that, and she seemingly exists on a constant level of cheerfulness, but he could not call her 'bad'.

'Daunting', however… "I expect she will work out," he says hopefully, "at least until you can get back on your feet."

"Not too much longer, Doctor, I'm sick of lying on my back."

"I fear you will have to for some few days yet."

They chat for a while longer, Ducky filling his friend in on the more interesting goings on at NCIS and the progress of current cases, not only with Gibbs' team but with others. Finally he glances at his watch. Though he does have unlimited access, there's no need whatsoever to overdo the privilege, especially when he can exercise it every day. "Visiting hours are already over, I shall see you tomorrow."

Michelle looks up appealingly. "Doctor, could you give me a lift home? My car's in for inspection until tomorrow afternoon and it's three busses getting back from here."

"No worries," he assures her with a smile, "I shall wait for you outside." He goes into the hall, expecting that they'll want to say their 'goodbyes' privately.

x

It takes only a minute for her to join him in the hall, but she waits until the door is closed before looking up at him, speaking softly, "I'm sorry, Doctor. I lied. My car's not in the shop."

"So I noticed," he tells her as quietly. He had parked beside it in the garage this morning and she _is_ here.

"The truth is I had to get out of there," she admits, and her whisper changes from admission to emphatic. "He is driving me _crazy_!"

"In what way?" Ducky is surprised at her whispered emphasis. He knows she's spent every evening, and most of her days off over the past three weeks, at his side, but this is the first time he has heard of any unpleasantness between them.

"He wants to get married."

He smiles at the non-secret. "I'm well aware of that."

"No. _Now_! Right _away_!" she tries to get her voice down. "He's so spooked by everything that's happened in the past few months that after getting out on Friday, he wants to get married on _Saturday_!" She fights the words down, takes a few steps with him away from the door lest she lose control of her volume.

"I thought we had until next May first. We were going to have a simple ceremony, but he's already called Mother O'Mallory and talked her into having the ceremony on Saturday in Saint Mary's! She'd been reluctant, said we couldn't proceed without the Pre-Cana conversations but I – I think he wore her down. I'd thought … well, I had wanted to get married in a field in a simple dress as befits a Wiccan, not in a freaking _Cathedral_!"

"Ah." He won't point out that St. Mary the Virgin, no matter how huge and impressive the Gothic structure is, is not a Cathedral; that being the headquarters of a Bishop. She doesn't need the distraction.

"I thought I had six _months_! I was all set for a Spring wedding, not in the dead of November. He called my _parents_! They're flying in the day after tomorrow! Thank the Goddess they got a hotel, the thought of my mother and I in the same apartment while I try to rush a wedding –!" she shudders.

"I take it you haven't expressed your reservations to him?"

"I _can't_," she confesses forlornly. "He has his heart set on getting married now, he's so scared of something happening to either of us. I don't have the heart to say 'no, wait'. But Special Agent Gibbs came to me this afternoon and told me my two weeks Leave is approved." Her frantic distress breaks through her efforts at self control. "I didn't know anything _about_ it. Jimmy set it all up from here, by our Honeymoon. He called the hotel and rebooked us starting Sunday! _He rescheduled our Honeymoon_!"

Ducky holds up his hands to slow the frantic woman, all of this sounding so unlike his young though admittedly occasionally impulsive friend. "I'm not certain how I can advise you," he admits. He has enough of a problem with the realization that Samantha Sky will _not_ be leaving in two days.

"I'm not looking for advice, I'm looking for Valium!"

He restrains a smile. "What are you going to do?"

She shrugs, looking up at him, lost except for one answer. "I'm going to get married on Saturday." It sounds more like an admission of the inevitable than a plan.

x

"And how do you feel about that?" He feels she should talk openly with Mr. Palmer, rather than giving in, but this is her marriage, not his.

"Happy, excited, scaredout of my freaking _mind_! I'm not _ready_! I'm not ready to get married. I wasn't thinking about moving out of my apartment until next April. I haven't got a dress. Screw the Invitations, I haven't even _bought_ them! That was something a Wedding Planner was going to take care of – I haven't even met with one. The Caterer, I booked the Hall for May first. I haven't shopped for a ring though he has one – I'm not _ready_!"

"If you would like, I could talk to him." He can usually communicate with the young man.

"No!" she holds up her hands to stop him. "I'll get through this. It'd break his heart if I said 'no', and especially if I sent you in to talk to him."

"This high-handed impulsiveness is unlike him."

"It's about the one thing in all of this that I _do_ understand. He's scared. First I get beaten up and wind up in the hospital only to be almost killed there, then I get captured and almost tortured to death, then _he_ nearly gets killed and has been stuck here for three weeks with nothing to do but plan a warp speed wedding. He's scared. He wants us to get married before anything else goes wrong. He hasn't thought it through that it won't make a bit of difference in our lives other than that we'll be living in one apartment. We'll still be exactly the same, doing exactly the same things with our lives, married or not, except I'll be 'Michelle Palmer'."

"Then what may I do?" She had appealed for help; he's been able to give precious little of it.

"Escort me home? Drive behind me and make sure I don't drive off the road?"

"Of course."

xxx

Samantha Sky pushes open the door to her apartment. "Karen, you home?" she calls, her voice carrying her perpetual delight.

"In the kitchen," her roommate calls back. A moment later a tall brunette wearing only a short blue skirt steps into the living room, "you're back late."

"These people start on the clock, but I'm told they rarely finish on it." She unbuttons her vest, opens the closet and pulls out a hanger, then glances again at her unencumbered friend. "You're lucky I didn't bring a man home."

"I don't mind threesomes with you, provided I get the best parts. So how was it?"

"We jumped right into a case so freaky I'd make the back of your head explode."

"You're so lucky to get this gig, I'd kill to get out of one of Mulranno's lectures."

"But then you'd have to do the autopsy." She wants out of this conversation as fast as possible; Karen's grades would make people use the term 'competent', but she had never been considered for extra-curricular duties.

"So, what's it like?"

"Incredible! Doctor Mallard is nothing like I pictured, but he's got to be the smartest man I've ever met."

"Is he cute?"

"Yeah."

"Is he _sexy_?"

"_Yeah_!" She undoes her skirt and slips it off, putting both garments on the hanger, not missing the look in her friend's eyes, "in a grandfatherly sort of way."

The anticipatory delight falls off her face. "Bummer. If you had to be surrounded by stiffs, at least one of them should have done you some good."

"Not really," Sammy finds little humor in the comment. She starts to unbutton her blouse, watching Karen's eyes on her. Her friend's face rarely hides her thoughts and this time her mind is not on autopsies.

"So, meet any cute guys?"

She thinks back over the whirlwind day. "A few." She crosses the room, opens the bathroom door and tosses the blouse into the hamper.

"Meet any cute _girls_?"

Sammy glances over her shoulder, unable to contain a grin. Karen is so predictable. "A few." She reaches back to the clasp of her bra, opens it and the lacy material follows the blouse as the taller woman approaches. "What's for dinner?"

"Beef stew. I just turned it on when I heard you come in."

'That's not the only thing,' Sammy thinks as Karen steps behind her, hands slipping under her arms to cut and stroke her breasts. She feels tingles chase delightfully through her body down to her bare toes as Karen's teasing fingers pet her nipples.

"So," Karen's hot breath tickles her ear, "as always you get your choice of guys _and_ girls. Tell me about the girls."

Sammy turns, not losing Karen's soft hands on her breasts as she cups the taller woman's, trying to return the same sensations her friend's hands are raising in her. They get closer, Karen's right hand slips down her stomach and she takes a step to the side as Karen's hand slips under the waistband of her panties, teasing the smooth shaven mons so her fingertips stroke her labia. Sammy, barely able to wait, reaches between them to the hem of Karen's skirt and finds nothing to block her own quest.

Their lips meet sensuously, softly, hands teasing breasts and moist labia. "You get the guys and girls," Karen whispers into her lips, "tell me about the girls."

"There's one I think you might like," Sammy sighs, barely able to think. "She used to live with another girl, she told me, but I don't know what it was like. She does have tats, though."

Karen's fingers pinch her nipple lightly while one finger slips up between her lips and Sammy tries to keep enough thought to return the love. Their lips meet again, stroking sensuously, the tips of their tongues touch to an almost electric thrill and when Sammy's finger strokes Karen's clitoris the taller woman cries down into her mouth….

xxx

Gibbs leans his weight onto the sander, using it to smooth out the surface of the boat's hull, steady strokes clearing the roughness. It would be so nice, he thinks, if it were possible to smooth out the roughness of this case in the same way as with the therapeutic boat.

"You truly should lock your door, Jethro," Ducky Mallard admonishes him from the top of the stairs. "At least occasionally."

"Anyone gets this far, Duck, I just shoot him," he replies, not stopping the sanding, not admitting a locked door might have slowed Ari Haswari down by only ten seconds.

"Permission to come aboard?"

Gibbs glances up, a half-smile disintegrating at the restrained grimness in the man' eyes. "Granted." He waits until the man comes down, removes his fedora and opens his overcoat. "You're not one for late evening drop-ins."

"Yes, well, I find myself in a small quandary, with few people to consult on it. I visited Mr. Palmer not long ago, but he and Miss Lee have troubles of their own. They have no need of mine."

"I thought so when I spoke to Lee this afternoon. She looked like she might have admitted what was on her mind, but she didn't."

Mallard fills him in on his earlier conversation.

x

"I figured something of the kind. I'm keeping my Saturday open until someone says different."

"But Jethro…."

Gibbs holds his hand up, his face reflecting his determination that "I'm not getting involved." He starts to put his tools away, anticipating that whatever Ducky has to say will take some time; never a surprise with him. "You didn't come all the way over here just to talk about Palmer and Lee. What did you find?"

"Oh, little more than I'd already told you. Commander Megalo and Petty Officer Clarke suffocated due to a chemical poison in their systems. Though it is volatile and evaporates rapidly, Petty Officer Clarke had the misfortune of attempting CPR while the sodium azide was still liquid and spread over the Commander's face and neck. Why and how the Commander was infected, well, I was hoping you would be able to tell me."

"We're working on it. The job he and the other two were trying for pays fairly well, but nothing to kill over. We have agents protecting the other two candidates, not letting on of course that they're suspects too. One has a job, the other doesn't, but when I send DiNozzo and McGee out tomorrow they'll have to second the evaluation of the other agents. My gut says 'no', there's not enough about this job that'd make it worth killing over. Megalo's Discharge comes due the end of next month; if he got the job he was going to put in for his unused time as Terminal Leave. The brass at Norfolk has been ready for the changeover for a while, but for _some_ reason no one told his XO."

This is the first interesting part. "Isn't that uncommon?"

"No, Duck, that's pretty damn peculiar. No one on his staff knew he was retiring; Megalo played everything close to the vest. Seems he was regarded as a 'good boss', but he never gave up plans until the thing was set."

"A strange way to run an operation. I do not believe I would relish such conditions."

"Ya think?" The silence stretches, Ducky doesn't interfere with his thoughts.

"Megalo had no enemies we can find. He didn't ride his staff any harder than any other department head, kept his people in line without much fuss. We've pretty much eliminated Clarke as the target. He was assigned this morning to drive because he was the closest one who was standing around doing nothing. Seaman Recruit MacPhearson said Megalo approached them outside the Warehouse near Disbursement, probably walked about looking for the first guy goofing off, chose Clarke because MacPhearson was on his way in to duty. Clarke was just to drive, watch the car and come back. He's a PO3, he has less enemies than Megalo, which isn't saying much. Didn't gamble too much, never over his head and he paid up; drank a bit when on leave in town but stayed sober. Basically these were just two inoffensive guys I can't find any reason to kill."

"And yet someone did murder them, and in a most exotic manner."

"You and Abby both showed how dangerous this was." Both in words and precautions, both had been particular about how they had avoided exposure.

"The slightest contact with sodium azide is deadly. It is rapidly absorbed through the skin, penetrates the cells almost instantly, and if breathed it is just as dangerous. It instantly prevents the cells from using oxygen. In preparing it the killer had to be exceptionally cautious; the slightest exposure is fatal."

"How did the killer get it on Megalo?"

"The liquid was on the left side of Commander Megalo's face, neck and collar. I might have said he was splashed with it except for the small discoloration we found on the left side of his neck. I'm certain it was the start of a bruise, which of course ceased to develop upon death."

"How long?"

"Damage was to the surface capillaries and was arrested almost immediately. I should say less than a minute between his suffering this minor wound and his death."

"The guard at the desk didn't see anyone around him except one woman and we've eliminated her for now. The revolving door and the lobby windows cover a good spread of the plaza."

"Then how did someone get close enough to poison him?" Ducky knows the question has been troubling his friend all day.

"It couldn't have happened in the elevator on the way down?"

Ducky shakes his head, having heard the hope hidden in the question. There is, however, no such thing as a slow acting S.A. poisoning. "He would never have made it out of the lobby."

xx

Gibbs spends another minute trying – again – to imagine a scenario where Megalo could have been poisoned while he was alone, finally returning his attention to his friend when Ducky says he should be getting back home to check on his mother. He's halfway up the stairs when Gibbs stops him.

"How's your other youngster working out? Sky? Glad she'll have to be staying on another two weeks?" He can't miss his friend's darkened expression.

"She's competent. Her grades are good, and she should make a fine Pathologist."

"But."

It takes Mallard several moments, even though it was for this reason that he had intruded upon his friend. He steps back down and off the stairs. "Well, her enthusiasm … she is quite high spirited."

"Maybe too high?" He'd noticed this in the three times he'd seen her. It was hard not to.

"Well, I can certainly see where she might be enthusiastic; first day on a new job and so forth. The report I turn in will have a significant effect upon her education, if I send a poor one she may well not be selected for future extra-curricular training so there is a motivation to make a good first impression."

"But you don't think that's it," he cuts into Ducky's waffling.

"No, Jethro, I do not."

x

Ducky finally overcomes his reluctance. "Do you know what she did when we were shutting down for the night?"

"No."

"She kissed me." He sees the look on his friend's face and doesn't want to give the wrong impression. "Well, on the cheek. She had to come up on her toes to do so, and it was just a tiny 'good night' buss as you'd see between friends; I'd do no more with Director Shepherd or … well, if ever I _were_ to do so. But the _point_ is I have never had an assistant _kiss_ me."

"You've never had a woman assist you." He recalls his friend having been attracted to more than one female doctor, but this is considerably different.

"That's not the … well, maybe it is the point, but–"

"What's the matter, Duck," he asks, unable to restrain a grin, "don't you trust yourself?"

"_Jethro_! I am old enough to be her gr – well, her father. But her enthusiasm–"

"Give her the boot."

"I can't do that!" Even without knowing that Jimmy is going to be gone for another two weeks, and Sammy's stay will be extended, he cannot do that to her.

"Why not? She's not working out; boot her back to the School. Write her a nice reference letter or evaluation or what have you and send her on her way. Tell them Palmer made a miraculous recovery and is starting work in the morning."

"I can't do that."

"Why?"

"She has not done anything _wrong_ – aside from being as hyper as Abigail after a quart of 'Caf-Pow!'. She knows anatomy, she knows medicine, she knows forensics, I can find no fault with her education, her comprehension, her evaluation skills or her methodology." He shakes his head, hating to give in to the frustration he feels. "I simply wish she would …"

"Tone it down a few megawatts?"

"Precisely," he is relieved that his friend finally gets it.

"Do you see her doing that?"

"Well, it _was_ her first day. Maybe when the novelty of working for NCIS wears off…"

Gibbs steps past Ducky and starts up the stairs. "You keep telling yourself that, Duck. In the meantime, if she kisses you again, just remember," he reaches for the light switch, "you're 'old enough to be her gr – well, her father'. Coming?"

He turns off the switch, leaving his friend in darkness.


	7. I Lay My Hand Upon You

Chapter Seven  
I lay my hand upon you

Jeans and flannel shirts the style of the evening, both Tim and Siobhan grin at one another as they doff jackets over seats at a table for four at the McDonalds a mile from St. Mary the Virgin Church. They'd chosen this distant eatery so they may have a chance at an uninterrupted and anonymous evening, but they're amused at how well they complement each other.

With the exception that Siobhan's shirt is red to compliment her long hair and McGee's is blue, there's little difference between them. "We look like a married couple," she says.

"Not 'till we're at the cowboy boots and lariat tie stage."

"I give it another three months, then." But a minute later Siobhan, taking a bite of her double cheeseburger, can't miss the distracted look in her friend's eyes. He hasn't gone for as much as a single French fry before she puts the burger down and wipes her lips. "All right, Timmy, unburden yourself."

He returns to Earth. "Huh?"

"Your mind is obviously back at headquarters. Come on, I'll help you think."

He smiles, wondering how many other women there are he can ask out on a date – not that he ever would – who would tolerate playing second fiddle to a mystery.

x

As they eat he tells her everything; the deaths, the interviews, the poisons, the disrupted financial files that seem to lead nowhere. He tells her of the impending retirement that seems to be top secret, at least in Disbursement, everything. By the time their meal is finished, he is closer to nothing save depression.

"I do know one thing," she observes.

At this point he'll grasp at anything. "What?"

"When Agent Gibbs calls for a report in the morning," she finishes the last of her coke, then smiles around the straw, "you are totally screwed."

The joke, such as it is, falls flat as Tim's face. Siobhan, in an effort to do anything to snap her friend out of his doldrums, pries off the top of her soda cup, pulls out a small piece of ice, licks it clean and takes careful aim. She tosses it across the table where it slaps into his chest just high of the upper closed button and falls inside. "Two points."

"_Ack_!" He tries to reach in after the frigid fragment, but it avoids his grasp and slips deeper. "What'd you do _that_ for?"

"You looked so depressed." He continues trying to reach the ice without undoing the buttons. "Forget it, on _your_ hot body it's probably melted and disappeared by now." Tim freezes for several seconds, then his eyes very slowly rise to hers. "What?" He doesn't move a muscle and she grows apprehensive. "Timmy, what?"

He gets out of his seat and around the table, sits down beside her and grabs her shoulders, his lips pressed to hers all so quickly she only has time to be frightened but not to pull away. It's several seconds before he stops kissing her and draws back so she can right her glasses.

In her eyes he can see fright and astonishment war with confusion and relief. "Shav, you're _brilliant_!" He yanks his cell phone out of his back pocket, opens it and presses the speed dial and speaker setting.

"Thanks," she breathes, just trying to catch up. "I think."

xx

Abby, wearing her white funeral shroud and utterly exhausted from the day's exertions, is just settling into her coffin/bed when her telephone rings. Getting back out of the coffin with a groan more of annoyance than exertion, she stumbles across the room and picks the offending instrument up. "Sciuto Labby," she mumbles tiredly.

/What?/ McGee's voice invades her ear with a laugh. His voice sounds like he's using a speaker phone.

"Don't push me, McGee, I'm tired." She looks at the clock and wishes she hadn't.

/Did I get you out of your coffin?/

She doesn't care for the humor in his tone. "What do you _want_, McGee? Before I talk Ducky into performing an operation that'll really _disappoint_ Siobhan." She's surprised and embarrassed to hear a woman's lilting laugh in the background. '_Damn_!' "What _is_ it?"

/Yes. Abby, could someone freeze water laced with sodium azide into a bullet, mount it on a shell and fire it from a rifle so that it's just a packet of water when it reaches its target?/

Immediately her mind comes fully awake in a blaze of calculations. "Yes! All the work would have to be done in a controlled environment like a huge freezer. Given the maintenance of the right temperature, the explosive charge, rifling friction and air friction, it's possible the 'bullet' will be just water when it hits!"

/Can you give me the range?/

"Too many variables. The water packet will be more susceptible to gravity and friction than a bullet. Tell me what kind of gun and I can."

/High powered rifle with telescopic sight?/

"Better to have a downward angle, snipe from above. Two hundred feet is the maximum lateral range you can hope for before it loses accuracy. Downward range; as much as you need to reach the ground."

/Point of impact, enough of a smack to leave a bruise on unprotected skin?/

"You bet your bippy."

/Abby, you're terrific. I owe you a dinner./

"Forget the dinner, I'm just dying to get back to my coffin."

/Rest in peace./

x

"Yes! _Yes_! _Yes_!" Tim exults, stabbing another combination as Siobhan sits back, quite aware that this date is over.

xxx

Ducky Mallard has finally gotten his mother to her bed across the foyer and has settled down into a chair by the fire with a blanket across his legs, a fine book in his right hand and a better Cognac in his left when the telephone on the far table rings. Restraining a mutter of annoyance, he sets down book and glass on the small stand beside him and hastens to get up to cross to the phone before–

"_Donald_?" the woman's demanding voice cuts across the foyer into the living room and he grimaces, slowing his pace. The damage is already done. "Is that that floozy who's servicing you at work?"

He groans. Oh, _how_ could he have been so _careless_ as to mention Samantha Sky to his mother? "_No_, mother. Go back to sleep." He picks up the phone. "Mallard residence... Yes, Timothy."

/Ducky, I'm sorry to call you at home./

"I assure you you should be. It has taken me nearly an hour to get mother off to sleep and you've quite undone it."

/I'm sorry. I wanted to ask, that is, I needed to know–/

"_Donald_?" The voice cuts through the rooms and his nerves.

"_Yes_, Timothy." Ducky urges, resigning himself to the very real probability of forgetting about the book … and the Cognac.

/Was there any sodium azide on Commander Melago's hand?/

"It was all in my report, a high concentration on the left side of his neck at the location of the incipient bruise, more on the side of his face and another ranging from the middle of his left palm to the ends of the three middle fingers. You _did_ read my report, did you not?"

/Er, no, I'm sorry, I was–/

"Good _night_, Mr. McGee." He hangs up the phone.

"_Donald_, what did that floozy want you to do with her?"

Ducky sighs and shakes his head while looking longingly at the Cognac.

xx

"I'm afraid I've ruined his evening," McGee confesses, closing the phone.

"I know exactly how he feels," Siobhan says wistfully.

He turns to the woman at his side, guilt upon guilt. "Shav, I'm _sorry_–" he cuts off at her raised hand, relieved to find no annoyance on her face.

"No, Timmy, this is what's important. You knew there would be times I'd have to put something ahead of you, and I know the same. Drive me back to the Rectory, then go with God."

He kisses her, trying to put all his love into a few seconds.

x

There remains only one final call to make, and amazingly enough Gibbs _doesn't_ summon the team back to duty. When a conference call brings all the agents up to date with this new theory, he determines that it's better to approach the facts with fresh minds in the morning. Also, since they may well have to return to the field, it'll be necessary to have someone on site to be interviewed.

He directs all of them to rest, to keep the rest of the night as they had it and to be ready with positive planning in the morning.

There are two people who are not at all displeased by this directive.

"Want to see a movie?"

xxx

On the following morning Gibbs barely has a chance to sit down at his desk, ubiquitous cup of coffee in his hand, when his phone rings. He answers with characteristic brevity.

/Greetings, oh silver fox,/ Abby's pleased voice comes from the unit.

"You found something."

/Technically, I found nothing,/ she corrects, sounding utterly pleased with herself. /Come on down, I'll show it to you./

x

Less than four minutes later Gibbs, his large coffee cup in one hand and a larger plastic 'Caf-Pow!' container in the other, enters the lab, turns down the radio as he passes, almost an automatic gesture and finds Abby at work at the freestanding console in the middle of the room. As he reaches her and hands her the cup, he sees upon the worktable a wider than usual laptop enclosed in a plastic Evidence bag.

"Thank you," she says with a pleased smile, taking a mighty draw from the huge cup.

"What would you ever do without 'Caf-Pow!'?"

"Please, you've already seen me on the wagon," she reminds him. "Not pretty."

"No. What have you got?"

She lays her gloved hand upon the plastic enclosed hardware. "Lieutenant Commander Megalo's laptop from his office. Tim's report from yesterday said the drive had been erased, wiped and restored; I decided to dig further."

"That's why I like you."

"Gee, I thought it was because I look sexy in a lab coat."

"That too." He cannot miss that, under said coat, she is wearing black jeans and an equally black tee shirt enhanced with a large black on yellow 'Batman' emblem, its wings spread across her impressive chest. "What's with the bat signal?"

She turns, pleased. "Gee, Gibbs, a colloquial culturalism, I'm impressed." She can also see he's not going to rise to take her bait. "Something Ducky's new assistant inspired."

"She does seem to have an influence," he admits, recalling her effect upon DiNozzo; no surprise there, but also his old friend's disconcertion at being paired with a woman for the first time in his long career. It doesn't help Ducky that she's a young and very pretty one. "But what about the _computer_ do you have?"

He's particularly interested in that, since she's enticed him down here with the promise of showing him 'nothing'.

x

"When McGee said the drive had been wiped, that wasn't the only thing that was. The keyboard has been wiped clean. Every key was treated with a cleanser and wiped clean some time ago. It wasn't done well enough to clear all of the accumulated dirt and oils, that would have made the difference visible; but fingerprints, that's another story.

"This is a special model, more expensive than your common laptop because it has an expanded keyboard such as desktops use; you know, the numbered keypad on the right most useful to number crunchers. Most people, if they need it, will use a plug in for a desktop keyboard but you can get them made that way if you want to spend a little extra."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lottle. Anyhow, some time ago this keyboard was wiped down. On a normal keyboard, even if there's only one user, fingerprints get overlayed, bunched up and overrun in an indecipherable mishmash. I was able to raise, from uncommon letters like 'q' and 'z' and several of the Function keys, some almost pristine prints. The better ones are here on the top above the Function keys when you go for them and for that split second you miss."

Gibbs does not need any more. "Whoever wiped the drive did the keys, and Megalo went right on typing."

"I can't say someone else used or didn't use the computer, though. Whoever cleaned the drive of whatever he wanted to keep secret almost got away scot free."

"But he didn't." Gibbs leans in close, giving her a kiss on her cheek.

xxx

'Who has the skill to use sodium azide safely?' Gibbs wonders again as he sits at his desk, deep in concentration. 'It's a bath tub compound, mixing it is easy once you have the ingredients, and Abby says you can get them almost anywhere. It's explosive, poisonous by air, touch and by swallowing, so whoever made it had a better than average chance of killing himself as much as Megalo. And as to how it got on the victims "Why an ice bullet?" he muses aloud, only realizing how loudly when DiNozzo answers.

"The Iceman. An ice bullet sounds like an appealing choice."

"Not his style," Gibbs denies, "not from his past hits."

"Men change."

"Let's not look too far from home first. Who on the base would have a motive to kill Megalo. Who would have access to azide, and who would be able to deliver it?"

"Let us see," Ziva wonders. "Who on a Navy Station of over 20,000 men and women would have training in the use of firearms?" Gibbs' glare warns her that sarcasm is not a smart idea. "I am just saying that if we had a plethora of suspects when it came to the trashing of Lieutenant Moynihan's office files, we are now opening up a true can of lizards."

"Worms," DiNozzo corrects.

"DiNozzo?"

"Yes, boss?"

"If you have nothing to contribute, shut up."

"Shutting up, boss."

xxx

Two hours later Michelle Lee hangs up the phone and looks to her left, seeing Siobhan O'Mallory crossing past the windows on her way to the elevator. It's unusual to see her here on a Thursday, she supposes the priest is here to take care of some extra business, but she considers this a perfect opportunity to talk to her. Ziva is at her desk so Michelle tells herself she's not leaving the Squad Room unattended, hurrying after the taller woman. "Mother O'Mallory?" she calls out just before the woman can reach for the call button.

When the priest turns, Michelle feels a blast of her old apprehension, instantly sorry for her impulsive move.

"Yes?" Siobhan inquires of the frozen woman. She'd been on her way back to St. Mary's following an unexpected summons by Jennifer Shepherd, but allows nothing of her feelings at this distraction to show in her face. "Yes?" she repeats, mildly surprised at the other's fearful silence. Though she has heard descriptions, this is nothing like the woman she has come to know over the past few months.

"May I – that is, may I speak to you?" The word 'privately' is unsaid but hangs heavily in the air between them.

"Of course. Come up to my office." She'd actually intended to speak to the woman when she visits Jimmy Palmer this evening at the hospital, anticipating her presence there, but if the opportunity presents itself she can say what she has to now. She presses the up button instead of down, a moment later boarding with the silent woman and pushing 4.

Michelle remains silent through the ascension and the short walk through the corridors, allowing Siobhan plenty of time to wonder. Many people over the years have approached her with a measure of apprehension, no one with the depth of fear she senses now. What can be affecting the otherwise confident agent she'd come to know?

Siobhan unlocks the door to her office, one barely distinguished by the utilitarian white on black placard affixed to the portal, proclaiming in three lines of san serif block letters '441 - S. M. O'Mallory - Chaplain'. The first time she'd seen the government issued ID, she'd had the urge to pull it off and snap it in half. Over the more than four months that she has been here that inclination has never faded. Someday she'll replace it with a simple placard: 'Chaplain'.

The office is very little homier than the sign. A desk faces the far wall, a couch to the right and grey filing cabinets to the left. She intentionally keeps things like this, to emphasize to any visitors that they alone have her attention.

x

"Sit down, Michelle," she invites, indicating the couch while turning the desk chair around to face the apprehensive woman, "and tell me what's bothering you."

"How do you know anything's bothering me?" she asks, her posture ramrod straight, her hands clasped together tightly upon her lap. Weeks of progress in overcoming her anxieties have collapsed in as many seconds.

"Divine insight," Siobhan assures her with a smile meant to be disarming.

Michelle takes a deep breath. It does not calm her at all. "Reverend O'Mallory – I mean, Mother O'Mallory – I –." She pulls herself to a stop. She used to stumble so over Deputy Special Agent-in-Charge Gibbs. She'd gotten over that; now it's back full force.

"Why not just call me Siobhan?"

"I _can't_ do _that_."

"Why not?"

"Well, I was taught to respect my – that is – I–"

She decides to try a different tack. "What may I do for you?"

"Well, you see, I'm getting married…."

"I know." Siobhan's voice communicates that it is the biggest non-secret in all of NCIS, considering the fact that she's agreed to perform the ceremony on Saturday - rather than next May.

"Yes, I know – I mean I know you know. It's just that… I… Did you know he wants to do it on _Saturday_?"

"Yes, I was going to talk to you about that, which is why I'm glad you asked to see me. I'd intended to do it earlier after James Palmer called me, I'm very sorry I never managed to. You know I had scheduled the three Pre-Cana conferences for the two of you for next April. They are important as a preparation for marriage."

"I know that. Suddenly everything is happening so fast! I'm not ready for any of this."

"Did you tell him that?"

"I _tried_!"

"Are you having second thoughts? About getting married?"

"_No_! I mean yes, I mean… Well, it was supposed to be May of next _year_. My mother wants it done in church, and I…. Can I start at the beginning?"

"Please do."

It takes a deep, hard-held breath before she can begin. "Well, you see, Jimmy's Roman Catholic, I was bought up Episcopal, mom was a convert since before I was born so I was born into it but … well, you see, I'm also a witch. That is, I believe in the Goddess Dana and the God Dagda as well as Jesus and Jehovah but you and I never discussed – we've never had chance to discuss – well, I'm not sure where I stand – with the Church I mean."

As she speaks, she rubs her clenched hands together on her knees, her muscles tight. She sits on the edge of the couch, her body taut. "I don't know about getting married in a church, if I'm… I mean, I know the Roman church doesn't like us – witches, I mean – I just don't know where I am here. I'm an Episcopalian Witch – there isn't even a _name_ for someone like me. I don't know where I stand with the church, if I'll ever be accepted or…"

"Oh, that's easy," Siobhan dismisses the concern with an airy wave, "you're going straight to Hell and eternal fiery Damnation. The Bible teaches 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'; I've already spoken to the Liturgical Council about your execution."

"_WHAT_?" Michelle leaps off the couch, backing away, her eyes bright with terror, wishing her Sig weren't in her desk downstairs. "How COULD you? WHY? I thought I could–!"

x

"Michelle!" Siobhan stands, her hands up, trying to halt the woman's panic. "I'm _joking_!"

"You're _WHAT_?"

"Jesus, I'm _sorry_! I was making a little joke to try to ease the anxiety; I had no idea you would _believe_ it."

"You're not…?"  
"No!" When Michelle doesn't retreat further, she slowly sits back down. "Come, sit down," she urges. "Let's talk."

"Well…" Michelle forces herself to sit back down on the couch.

"Michelle, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Forget it."

Siobhan decides this is a good idea. "Let's discuss your craft. From what you tell me, you're bringing three religions into this marriage."

"Exactly." She fights down the last of her apprehension, trading it for another one. "And I'm not sure how the church is going to look at marrying a Catholic and a witch."

"What about a Catholic and an Episcopalian?" That's enough of a complication, but she's not going to say that aloud, yet, not to this woman in her volatile state. "Which do you see yourself, as a witch or a Christian?"

"Both. Equally. I've found both to be true – and right for me. I was just worried about how you saw it. The Bible confuses me – a lot."

"I know what you mean. You not only have to deal with 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live', but also in the Sermon on the Mount: 'Not every one that saith unto me. Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but they that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name cast out devils? and in thy name done many wondrous works? And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.'"

Michelle stares at her, unable to decide precisely how she feels. "How do you manage to have the precise passage that's been scaring the life out of me on the tip of your tongue?"

"Well, I could say I'm extremely sensitive but the fact is I have the Bible memorized."

"The whole thing?" Siobhan nods. "Why?"

"For another time." It was the fear of the steady weakening of her eyes which might lead to eventual blindness that led to this, but that's not a story for now. "My favorite version is the King James, but you get the point. But why does it scare you so?"

"Because one of the things I've focused on, among all the powers Wiccans use, is healing, relief of pain and sickness, but if I am going to be condemned for it…."

"I don't believe you will be."

"I'm confused. Where do you stand? I'm not giving up my Faith – or my practice. To me they're real, sometimes more real than–" she cuts it short, afraid of insulting the woman.

x

"I heard about how you helped James. I didn't see it, but Ducky and others told me what happened. It sure didn't sound like a sin to me."

"I've always found my special talent in healing, that's where my true talent seems to be."

Siobhan can see Michelle is simply not hearing her, so focused is she upon her fears. "In the Healing Service, I say 'I anoint you with oil, and I lay my hand upon you in the Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, beseeching Him to fill you with His grace that you may know the healing power of His love'. That is the basis of the Laying on of Hands."

"Why do they make it that if you do it it's fine, if I do it it's a sin?"

"Oh, that's easy," she confesses with a shrug and wry smile, "I have a Master of Divinity Degree."

"But –"

Siobhan leans forward, trying to hold the frightened woman's attention. "Michelle, what you do when you heal is _not_ a sin, I can't believe that. Even if it was the only thing about you that I had ever heard, Ducky says you saved James' life and I can never call that a sin. The passage that so frightens you was written for a different time and for different circumstances. Our Lord looks into peoples' hearts. Those who said 'we worked in your name' were doing more than that. They thought to claim that doing a few good works 'in his name' was enough to counter all the bad things, but that was a dodge and a fraud. They were _not_ doing God's will and no amount of quibbling was going to change who they were as a whole.

"But I have gotten to know you fairly well over these past few months, and I find no evil intent in you. I don't know a whole lot about your philosophy and there is a lot I simply cannot believe in – though what you did for James Palmer I cannot deny - but no, I don't think you're a bad person."

"My faith in Wicca–"

"I'm not going to tell you that you can't, though I personally believe you _shouldn't_. To me, one is a pagan or a Christian, you're trying very hard to be both."

x

"So you won't marry us?"

"I never said that." She wishes the woman wouldn't keep jumping to conclusions. "You're on record as a practicing Episcopalian and faithful to your church. Jim Palmer is a member of Saint Michael's Roman Catholic and as such there are subtle differences the two of you are going to have to be aware of and address. Not in gross but in fine. I'll help you if you allow. However, your future and your lives are ultimately your own choice."

"But if I can use Wiccan–" she stops at the woman's upraised hand.

Siobhan feels it is time to be blunt, not to let the woman jump from one fear to the next. "Michelle, neither you nor James are parishioners of St. Mary's. We have discussed all this, what needed to be done. I've already spoken with your Priest and his, as well as with _two_ Bishops. You knew that was required in order for you to get married at St. Mary's. If you were still getting married in May, we'd publish the Banns starting next April. As it is, the required Pre-Cana conferences will take place _after_ your honeymoon rather than in the weeks before. I needed the Bishop's approval on that, and it wasn't easy, I had to do quite a soft shoe dance for it. I would have done _none_ of those things if I had any problem with marrying the two of you on Saturday."

"Why couldn't you have just _told_ me this in the beginning?"

"You weren't ready to hear it in the beginning."


	8. Impatience

Chapter Eight  
Impatience

"Forensic Accounting has compared every page of every file on Lieutenant Moynihan's desk," Ziva declares when she returns to the Squad Room, a large stack of folders cradled in her arms, "with every page of the corresponding files in Commander Megalo's office _and_ in the Accounting office." She sets the stack down on her desk and pulls off her latex gloves, tossing them into her wastebasket. "There are no discrepancies."

"Unless they're missing or changed from all three sets," DiNozzo points out.

"No, Tony, I can see them missing from the Accounting office and from Moynihan's but Megalo's had restricted access and only he and Moynihan had keys to that office."

"Not quite," Gibbs reminds her. "Station MPs and Command also have keys."

"The point is that if Megalo's office was left as neat as a thumbtack, why be so _obvious_ by trashing Moynihan's?"

"Pin," Tony says.

"What?" the interruption has derailed her.

"'Neat as a pin.' You said thumbtack."

"I know where I should like to put one right now!"

"_HEY_!" Gibbs' voice slices through the mounting stress. "Fingerprints!"

"Abby lifted some from every page; it took her three hours before F.A. could start comparing."

Gibbs looks at the clock. It is nearly end of shift; they have been at this for two days and are no closer to an answer. He leaves his desk, heading for the elevator, wishing he could return and have someone tell him how someone could have poisoned Megalo between his meeting with Nichols and the plaza steps when, according to the guard at the front desk, there had been no one around.

xx

"Sorry, Gibbs," Abby says, turning from the Automated Integrated Fingerprint Identification System computer, on the one side of which is displayed a static image, on the other a series of images that flash faster than the human eye can discern. Her mood is vastly different than it had been a few hours ago. "I'm still running a boatload of prints, it'll take me all day to make a dent in them. But I keep getting hit after hit, so many dings I'm not sure anymore if this is AIFIS or a pinball machine."

As if to punctuate this, another 'Positive Match' lights up with a green bar across a matched set of prints, then the image automatically changes to an official ID image of a woman's familiar face. Gibbs had interviewed her yesterday afternoon. "Three more points, I'm on my way to a record breaker score."

"There were no non-matches at all?" Sometimes too much good news is no good news at all.

"Sorry. If I were to report now, I would say _everybody_ was in on it." She presses a button to start the next search.

"That's what I often suspect. Keep working on it." The machine chimes again, this time the image is of a man, also already interviewed.

"Yay," Abby intones flatly.

xxx

"Boss," Tim says as Gibbs enters the bullpen, "I think that rather than looking for an assassin, we should focus on who had the means and motive to hire one."

"Well, _yeah_, McGee, that's kind of what we've been doing all day. Have you got a clue?"

"Maybe. I do have an aberration."

"I agree," Ziva says soto voce, not bothered by McGee's glare.

"If I have to warn either of you one more time," Gibbs says sharply, not needing to finish. As far as he's concerned, the only thing worse than lovers in the workplace is _former_ lovers in the workplace.

"Not necessary, boss," McGee assures him.

"Ditty."

"McGee, you were saying?" he asks sharply to cut off any ill-advised correction from DiNozzo.

"I was going over the histories of everyone on Megalo's staff. They were all vetted by NCIS before being assigned, their background records check out – all but one."

He turns to the plasma screen between his desk and DiNozzo's, ties the output to his system and the unit displays the image of a young Seaman named Justin Keif. "He enlisted at 18 by direction rather than choice, and fifteen days ago was assigned to Disbursement."

Gibbs and DiNozzo both remember him. He's the youngest of those interviewed and knew the least about what was happening about him; therefore having the least to contribute.

"Lieutenant Moynihan signed his transfer orders placing him in Disbursement."

"I'm still waiting to hear why this means anything."

"I said he joined under direction; that direction came from the Maryland courts. Before he enlisted fourteen months ago he was in and out of jail many times as a juvenile and then as an adult. Charges were Internet Fraud and Identity Theft. Seems before he was caught he used stolen IDs to run up better than $233,000 in credit card purchases. His family disowned him when he went down for the fourth time."

"How did someone like this make it into Navy Finances?" Under Megalo's leadership, his division had taken over not only Income and Disbursement for all of the financial operations of Norfolk Station. "Who the hell vetted him?"

"We did. NCIS gave him a clear record and recommendation."

"A _what_?"

McGee touches another control and a copy of the Investigation document appears on the screen.

The silent agents watch as Gibbs reads it with mounting disbelief, and then: "Let's get these _bastards_."

xxx

When the black Dodge pulls up in front of the Building 78 DiNozzo, at the wheel, points to the sidewalk across the street. "Boys and girls, look who's coming."

The agents follow their partner's pointing finger to Petty Officer Hopkirk, who's approaching from the opposite side. By the time they're out of the car, he's crossing the street and they intercept him just short of the curb. "Petty Officer, we're looking for Seaman Apprentice Keif," DiNozzo says.

"He'd be in Bachelor Quarters. The operation's still shut down."

"Is Lieutenant Moynihan inside?" Lee glances back to the building.

"I expect so. I imagine he's in his office."

"Escort us to Seaman Keif's quarters," McGee directs.

"Is there some problem?"

McGee gives him his best 'Gibbs stare'.

xx

Having driven his own car, Gibbs and David approach the third floor office of the division's XO, their Sigs loosened in the holsters. They hope not to have to use them, but they're ready. Not even slowing their pace, they open the door and step into Moynihan's office. The man, dressed in full dark uniform, looks up, surprised at their sudden entrance. "Can I help you?"

Gibbs doesn't make it obvious that his hand is inches from his gun, "Stand up slowly and place your firearm on the chair behind you, then push it back across the room."

Moynihan stands up, his hands carefully away from his sides. "I'm not armed."

"Good to know. Tell me, why did you kill your boss? He was retiring in a couple of weeks and this would have all been yours."

"Are you out of your minds?" Moynihan demands, astonishment spread across his face. "I didn't kill John!"

"Perhaps the semantics get lost in the translation, Ziva would know a lot about that.

"You're making a big mistake," Moynihan tells them, stepping out from behind the desk. As Gibbs comes into range Moynihan pivots and his foot comes up, Gibbs' left arm blocks the roundhouse attack and his fist slams into Moynihan's leg, the impact to the nerve cluster instantly deadening the limb. He falls toward Ziva, who grabs his arm, twists his body about to fall over her extended leg and he falls on his back. His right hand is bent painfully forward at the wrist, his arm extended in a joint lock braced against her knee. He tries to raise his left hand and she presses harder on both wrist and elbow, driving his left arm back to the floor.

"Is that the best you can do? And you call yourself a Navy man. Lieutenant Patrick Moynihan, you are under arrest on two counts of violating Article 81 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice: Conspiracy to Defraud and Conspiracy to commit Murder; and Article 118, the Murders of Lieutenant Commander John Megalo and Petty Officer William Clarke."

"_I_ didn't kill anyone! You can't charge me with murder!" His attempt to resist again only results in greater pain before Gibbs applies his handcuffs.

"You should have read the law," Gibbs advises. "Anyone convicted under Article 118 _and_ under Article 81 is guilty of pulling the trigger."

xxx

Gibbs, accompanied by DiNozzo and David, watches through the one way glass from Observation One, inspecting the man who sits alone in the silent Interrogation Room. He's already looked in on Seaman Apprentice Justin Keif and has passed on him. The younger man will be no challenge at all, which is why he left him for McGee and Lee to wring the truth out. He wants the ringleader for himself.

Taking up the file from the Technician's desk at his left, he leaves the room, anticipating the taste of blood. "DiNozzo, you're with me."

"On your six, boss."

When they enter I-One Moynihan starts to rise. "Gibbs, listen to me, you've –" he gets no further as Gibbs shoves him back into the chair, where his crash is almost drowned out by the explosive sound of the file slapping onto the table, a gunshot in the small room.

Sitting down opposite the sweating man, eyes locked upon him, Gibbs fixes the man with a deadly glare. DiNozzo stands in the far corner, not blocking the window.

"You told us the truth when you said you didn't know that John Megalo was planning to retire and leave you in charge. The tragedy is he didn't let you in on that, that he played it so close to the vest but Megalo was like that. Had he told you like he should have, you'd never have hired an assassin to kill him."

"Agent Gibbs, I–"

"Save it. We have Keif, we have the record of your payment;" it's fortunate Moynihan can't read lies as well as Gibbs can, "we have everything but the assassin's name, so you can tell us that now."

"I want a lawyer."

"If I have my way, you'll get a firing squad." He waits, the seconds drag on so long he slams his hand down nearly hard enough to crack the table, his explosive yell blasting the man backward. "_TALK_!"

Moynihan looks for several seconds like he wants to hold out, but finally he gives in, knowing – or believing – that he's been found out already. "Anastasia Krynchzk, a former KGB assassin. She's in business for herself."

"She shaped frozen sodium azide and water into a bullet," Gibbs declares. "It was a good trick, slowed us down a bit because there was no ballistic evidence, but it only helped for a while. She took up a position somewhere in the business complex; we'll find out where when we track her down. She waited for him to leave the building where _you_ knew he had an 8:00 appointment. Problem was, you didn't know why." He's bluffing on the details, but sees he scores direct hits on almost all of them.

"If I had, I'd never have…."

"If you had, you'd have let things alone and you'd be running things. You and Keif would've quietly embezzled millions, since Megalo's plan meant you've had the entire Station's financial activities under your control. You slipped Keif in over two weeks ago but you needed him to be vetted by NCIS to make the scheme work."

He opens the file, showing Moynihan the Official Review document on Seaman Apprentice Justin Keif. "It was a good forgery, good enough to fool most people. The signature is perfect, my computer expert tells me it's a scan. It may not even have been read at all by us, just by your superiors, if not for the inconsistencies in this case. For instance, this report is barely a month old; it's dated just before Keif came into your section."

He points to the signature of the certifying Agent. "You probably had a few names to choose from in Megalo's files, it's a pity you chose Special Agent Christopher Pacci. DiNozzo," he calls not looking back to his Senior Field Agent, "tell Lieutenant Moynihan why he's going to spend the rest of his life in a Federal prison."

"Special Agent Chris Pacci worked with us." DiNozzo relishes the fading color on Moynihan's face. "He's been dead for more than three years."


	9. Those Whom God Has Joined Together

Chapter Eight  
Those whom God has joined together

The sonorous tones of the organ over the narthex of St. Mary the Virgin reverberate through the carved stone of the cathedral-like gothic structure. The afternoon sun beams in through the high western windows, decorating the communicants in magnificent color. The church is already half full, more guests arriving by the minute to be greeted by tuxedoed ushers who escort them to seats, mingling them with no distinction to archaic selections of sides.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs enters the magnificent house of worship with Jennifer Shepherd's hand upon his arm, the pair met and escorted to reserved places near the front. They are seated on the right side of the wide aisle, finding most of Alpha Team already there. Tuxedos for the men distract not a bit from the magnificent dresses worn by the ladies.

Gibbs settles in to wait, amazed at the turnout for the hastily arranged Service. For so short a notice, barely a week for many and one or two days for most, the number of people is impressive and excellent testimony of the regard in which the happy couple is held. He does notice, with an extra degree of interest, that seated next to Ducky is his new assistant. Maybe, he supposes, they came to terms and he didn't have to boot her ass out?

The organ above the narthex continues to fill the expanse with relaxing music that Gibbs half-suspects is not scripted. Just minutes remain before the Service. Conversations are conducted, if at all, in low whispers; nothing distracts from the event.

In the Rectory next door, in a borrowed guest room, the atmosphere is nowhere near as placid.

xx

"Michelle," Abby wishes she could get through to her frantic, rapidly pacing friend, "you're going to wear a hole in Father Donaldson's carpet."

"How can you _stand_ there so _calm_?" Michelle tugs the sleeve of her white gown as she walks quickly back and forth along the same seven feet. The dress, which normally should have had three or four fittings, is a best fit off the rack, uncomfortable in more spots than she wants to consider. She gets to the end of her path and turns so sharply her white veil flies. "I'm getting married in _ten minutes_ – not six months! Ten _minutes_! I'm not ready! Look at _you_!" If her own gown is ill fitting, her Maid of Honor's is even worse. It's pink, a color Abby would normally die rather than allow anyone to see her in unless it's prominently decorated with skulls. The hem, adjusted this afternoon, is barely high enough to skim her pinching pink shoes. "This is all _wrong_! How could he _do_ this to me? How could I _let_ him _do_ this to me?"

"You love him," Abby reminds her. "And he loves you. He's a little crazy right now, I know, but don't ever forget that."

"I _know_! But–" She resumes pacing at a more frantic rate, covering the distance over and over again with increasing speed. Abby steps in front of her, grabs the woman's arms, halts her sharply.

"Michelle, I know things are a little nuts; but you'll get through this. Just remember, you love him and in half an hour he's going to be your husband."

"_Husband_!" she cries in abject panic and Abby wishes she'd never said it as the smaller woman cringes. "I'm going to be his _wife_!"

"That's usually the way it works," she strives to inject reality into the situation and sees she's failing miserably as Michelle breaks away.

"He's going to be my _husband_! I'll be his _wife_! I _can't_ be a _wife_, not yet!" She resumes her mad pacing, "How can he do this, I can't do this, I _cannot_ do this, this is insane I cannot _do_ this! This is nuts! I _can't_ be a wife! I don't know _how_ to be a wife! I can't have a husband! I can't _do_ this! I don't want to _do_ this! How could he make me do this?"

Abby blocks her path again, "Michelle, if I slap you I'm going to ruin your make-up."

Lee had been about to walk over her but stops, startled, eyes wide as she looks up at the taller woman. "You wouldn't."

"No, I just wanted your attention." She loses it when the door behind her flies open and the worst possible visitor strides in.

"_There's_ my little girl!" the proud woman exclaims happily, crossing the room and hugging her.

"Mother, you just saw me two hours ago!" Her voice peaks, she's again as frantic as before Abby had gained her attention.

"But I wanted to see you in your gown." The older woman, hardly taller than Michelle, leans back, inspecting her. "You are so beautiful – your Aunt Mai would be so surprised if she could have made it in from Taipei soon enough. You really shouldn't have–"

"_Mother_!"

"But your Jaime Palmer is such a nice man; you are really lucky to make such a fine catch – and at your age."

"_Mother_!"

"Mrs. Lee," Abby tries to rescue her friend, "shouldn't you be in the Church? We've less than five minutes."

"_Five_ _Minutes_!"

'So much for rescuing,' Abby sighs, frustrated. "Look, Mrs. Lee, let me escort you back, then I come back to collect your daughter and we get started, okay?"

"Okay," she reaches out, her hands pressing her daughter's cheeks. "My little girl! Now remember, tomorrow when he gets you to that big hotel in Hawaii, you just be a good wife. Whatever he wants to do, just lay back and think of China."

"_Mother_!"

It takes Abby another minute to extricate the woman from the room, during which Michelle is driven to further distraction. Abby realizes that when she gets the older woman settled she's going to have to come back and try to settle Michelle again. She looks at her watch. "This wedding is _so_ not starting on time."

xx

In the Sacristy behind the Altar, Siobhan O'Mallory, dressed in white alb, chasuble and stole follows her three Acolytes through the back door into the room, finding the two tuxedoed men awaiting her. Ducky Mallard is elegant; Jimmy's eyes behind his glasses are filled with apprehension, somewhat surprising since the speed of this occasion is his idea. The gauze that circles his throat and holds the pads in place is almost hidden by the high collar of his formal shirt. There are just a few seconds remaining. The taller Acolyte, this one a black woman wearing a white Alb, removes from a hanger next to the closet a flowing white cope which she drapes about O'Mallory's shoulders. Siobhan attaches the short gold chain to hold the floor length garment in place and then addresses her friends.

"Now remember, James, when the Trumpet Voluntary starts you two go out first, stop before the Altar, genuflect and step down from the Sanctuary and go to your left, turn and face the Altar. And Jimmy, remember, you are on the _Gospel _side; otherwise Ducky will be marrying your wife." It's an old joke which usually serves to help dispel apprehension, but not this time.

"I'll remember," he assures her so solemnly that she can't restrain a smile.

"I know you will." Through the walls they can hear the organ music change to the impressive chords of the Voluntary. She takes Jimmy's arms. "That's your cue."

He tries to smile, it comes out uncertain. "Wish me luck."

"Always."

xx

The guests filling the huge church rise as the door to the right of the Altar opens and Jimmy Palmer steps out followed by Ducky Mallard, the two men proceeding to the Altar, Jimmy on the left. They pay reverence to the Sacrament enclosed in the tabernacle, turn and step down to their places beside the three ushers lined up before the forward pew.

A moment later three Acolytes, two dressed in black cassock and white cotta, the third in a white alb and carrying a large red book, step out, followed by Mother O'Mallory, who takes her place in the middle before the Altar. They genuflect, the Acolytes go to their places left and right, the Minister standing near O'Mallory.

Siobhan turns to face the congregation and the music changes to the preliminary wedding march. Jimmy, Ducky and the other men turn about, all the assembled men and women doing so as well to watch the next arrivals entering from the narthex door.

One by one, three of Michelle's closest friends make their way slowly up the two hundred foot aisle, carrying small bouquets and walking in time to the music. Their gowns match the one Abby is attired in though not as ornate, each as hastily selected. The music continues as each young woman in turn takes her place opposite the tuxedoed men. When the last reaches the edge of the Sanctuary, the music steps up slightly, the cue for the Maid of Honor to enter and begin her trek up the long aisle.

Though the music continues, the organist high above is unaware that no one is coming through the right side foyer door. The assembled congregation, however, cannot miss it. Several seconds go by, enough to raise slight apprehension, then the door opens and Abby enters the church.

She crosses the narthex and starts up the long aisle in complete disregard for the measure of the music.

As she quickly traverses the two hundred feet Jimmy feels his heart turn over. She's not carrying her flowers, she's not smiling but instead there's a stricken expression on her face and she's coming up very fast. When she gets close enough, he sees she's holding a small piece of paper in her hand.

Jimmy feels a hand upon his shoulder, knows it's Ducky's commiserating touch, but he doesn't want to understand what is happening. Abby stops before him and reaches out to hand him the small, folded paper. He doesn't want to take it, doesn't want to read it. In the choir loft the organ falls silent.

Jimmy reaches out, takes the paper, but he can't feel it. He opens it and sees Michelle's handwriting upon it, two words. He stares at the paper, at the words, not wanting to understand what they say.

'_I'm sorry_.'

xx

Jimmy Palmer stands in the quiet Sacristy, his bow tie loosened, staring at the words on the note in his hands. The room is silent save for the barely heard ticking of the clock behind his head. He knows Dr. Mallard and Reverend O'Mallory are in the room with him, his friend still in his tuxedo and the Priest now wearing just her long black cassock and encircling white collar. His eyes hurt from staring at the paper. He doesn't know, doesn't care, that he's been staring at it for ten minutes. When he blinks he can see the note, white on black, engraved on his retina. He keeps staring, his eyes hurting. He doesn't want to see anything, doesn't want to say anything, doesn't want to hear anything, doesn't want to be here.

"I can't believe it," he finally whispers, not sure which of the two people with him he's addressing, or if he's speaking only to himself.

Ducky had been considering, in this long silence, what he could possibly say to make this better. For someone so loquacious, he has to admit there's nothing he can say. He's resolved to let his friend do the talking, when he was ready. "When Abby returned to the Rectory, the note was all that was left."

"It's my fault, I drove her to it."

"James…" Siobhan tries to attract his attention, but she cannot. His eyes never leave the paper.

"I made her do it. She must hate me."

"_She does no such thing_!"

Mallard's angry force surprises Jimmy enough that he looks up, the fugue that had overwhelmed him broken. "She doesn't?" He's surprised it comes out as a question.

Though Ducky had used an angry tone to break through to his friend, he is not angry. "Of course she does not hate you. If I have ever seen two people who love one another, it is you and Miss Lee."

"But–" he raises the note.

"There are no 'buts', Mr. Palmer. I know you are distressed, _now_, but it is important to talk to her." He pulls out his cell phone, turns it on and extends it to him. Palmer takes it, stares at it, lost.

"What can I say?"

"Begin with 'I love you'."

xxx

Michelle Lee gets off the Metro, shielding her eyes from the sun low on the eastern horizon, neither knowing nor caring where the rail car has deposited her. She'd seen the sun go down and finally come up again as she rode, switching blindly from one connection to another, not wanting to know where she's going. She's traversed one line after another, back and forth until the sun in her tired eyes made her get off at this station, carried along by the morning crowd which thins out until she's alone on the platform. She'd spent the night being miserable, unable to return home, unable to face the possibility of meeting family or friends or coworkers.

She still wears her white gown, though her veil had been left behind in the Rectory. She realizes that, because she's so attired and looking so utterly miserable, no one had bothered her all night.

She'd turned her cell phone off; knowing how easy it was for her friends to find her if it was on. Now, unable to keep it off any longer, she presses the activation button. It takes several seconds to come on, to establish a network connection; then a small sign announces '87 missed calls'.

Sighing, she doesn't scan through the list. Some will be from family, some from anxious friends, some from NCIS. She knows who the vast majority of them will be from. Heartsick, she deletes all of them, then she presses the combination she's been thinking of all night.

x

The ringing cuts out halfway through the second buzz. "'CHELLE!"

She wants to hold the tears back. She can't. "Honey, I'm sorry! I'm so _sorry_!"

"It's okay, honey, never mind that. We can fix it – together. Are you all right? Where _are_ you?"

She can barely speak, wiping the tears from her face. "I'm fine, darling, I'm just so – so -."

"Where are you?"

She looks for a sign, finally finds one. "Shady Grove." Even in her misery she's impressed; if the Washington metro ran any further, she'd be in Virginia. "Honey, do you hate me?"

"I'll never hate you, darling. Where did you go?"

"The metrorail."

"All _night_?"

"I _want_ to get married, I really do. I'm so sorry, I got so scared. I went nuts. I _do_ want to marry you. I swear!"

"We can talk about it."

"I _do_ want to marry you." Silence – a heartbreakingly long silence. "Honey?"

"'Chelle, listen, we'll talk about it. Go home, get fixed up. Meet me in four hours, okay? Meet me … meet me at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, 10:00."

She looks at her watch. That's practically the time their plane was supposed to leave for Hawaii. They had a 12:00 Sunday flight, now it must be a 10:00 reconciliation.

Then she remembers they still have the next 14 days off. Today is the first day of their honeymoon.

"I'll meet you at ten. And honey, I'm _sorry_!" She snaps the phone closed, knowing if she hears one more word she's going to start crying again.

xxx

When the taxi deposits her half a block from the huge, white Memorial, the closest she wanted to come by car, Michelle is no longer in her white gown but a white blouse under tan vest and skirt. She hurries the rest of the way to the crowded site. There are hundreds of people about, many sitting upon the steps at either side where they won't block those arriving and departing. But so many people, so many. She can't find – no, there he is, standing just this side of middle of the wide steps, just off the path of those ascending or descending, wearing a light blue jacket against the morning coolness, his wound hidden under the white of a turtleneck collar, and her heart breaks as she runs to him. They collide, arms wrapped tightly about one another. "Darling I'm so sorry _please_ forgive me I didn't mean to–!"

His lips on hers silence her. But when she can speak again she has to know; "Do you hate me?"

He releases her and, arm about her shoulders he walks with her a few feet across the monument steps, almost midway past the people sitting upon them. "Darling, I will never hate you. I love you."

"Then you still want to get married?"

"More than anything. If you do."

"I do! I do!" She realizes she'd missed saying those words because of her own fear, and how much she regrets it now.

"I love you, 'Chelle," he releases her and steps back, and she realizes belatedly that they are very much in the open on the foot of the Memorial steps, "and I'd have the world know it."

He raises his voice, his loud words filling and echoing throughout the plaza. "I love you, Michelle Lee, and I would have the _world_ know it!"

"_Jimmy_!" She can't believe this, raising her hands to silence him as hundreds of people turn heads to look at them, "this is _crazy_!"

"No," he waves his arm toward the people on the steps beside them. "_This_ is crazy."

She looks at the people, astonished to see a very familiar man stand up from the third step. "Daddy?" Her heart is pounding as the woman at his side also rises. "_Mother_?" Disbelief mounts as, from one point after another her friends and relatives rise to number almost half those seated upon the steps. The moment is so surreal, so familiar that she turns to Jimmy, appalled. "This is out of a _commercial_!"

"This isn't," he points to her right. Many of her friends, both from her 'real' life and those from NCIS, including Mother O'Mallory and Ducky's new assistant Samantha Sky, cross the curved street to join them. Jimmy reaches out, taking her trembling hand. "One more time; to get it right."

x

She can't believe this is happening, amazed at what he'd orchestrated in four hours as Abby hugs her and turns her toward O'Mallory. Jimmy takes his place at her other side, Ducky beyond him and he takes her hand in his. O'Mallory has pulled a long white stole from her pocket, kisses it and drapes it from her shoulders.

"Dearly Beloved," the woman says without need of a book, "we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony." As Siobhan speaks, Michelle sees more and more people past her pause in their paths, becoming aware of what's happening in their midst. "The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God in creation…"

It's so surreal, as though despite staying awake all night riding back and forth on the metro she's fallen asleep and this is all the fulfillment of her heart, played out beyond the wildest expectation.

"The union of husband and wife in heart, body and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and, when it is God's will, for the procreation of children, and their nurture …"

_Children_! They'd discussed children so many times, now there would be children! Michelle bursts into tears, unable to hold it any longer. This is so romantic, so real, so–!

She can't believe she's being married here in the middle of a no-longer-busy Washington sidewalk in front of one of its most famous buildings. How did he do all this in four hours, so sure of her answer?

"Into this holy union James Brian Palmer and Michelle Liza Lee now come to be joined. If any of you can show just cause why they may not lawfully be married, speak now; or else _forever_ hold your peace!"

x

It's as though the world goes silent. Michelle tries so hard to stop her tears that that's all she hears. She never hears the Charge of Confession. Then O'Mallory is speaking directly to her.

"Michelle, will you have this man to be your husband, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

Michelle, overwhelmed, tries to contain her tears. The more she tries to speak, the harder they come. This is so romantic, how did he do all this so quickly, how could he love her so much that he could do all this?

"Honey," Jimmy says, smiling, "do you think you can stop crying long enough to answer her?"

"_NO_!" She sees the stricken look on his face. "I mean _Yes_! I mean I will, I am, I do, I mean I–!"

"Close enough," Siobhan assures her with a grin, turns then to Jimmy and asks him the same question as Michelle clings to his arm, fighting back to control. She wants so much to enjoy this moment, to remember it for the rest of her life.

When Siobhan asks if those witnessing these vows will help in upholding them in their marriage, it seems like a thousand people answer as one: "_We will_!"

x

Michelle feels her roller coaster emotions turn instantly to joy as Jimmy takes her hand and repeats at O'Mallory's direction the vow. Then, when Michelle can take his, she can look up happily into her husband's eyes and repeat the words she'd been unable to imagine herself ever able to say. Two months ago she couldn't say them, now; "In the Name of God I, Michelle, take you James, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow."

She doesn't want to ever let go of his hand.

"You have the ring?" Ducky hands it to Jimmy and he gives it to the Priest. "Bless, O Lord, this ring to be a sign of the vows by which this man and this woman have bound themselves to each other; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen." She hands the blessed gold circle to Jimmy.

"Now repeat after me: 'Michelle, I give you this ring … as a symbol of my vow … and with all that I am … and all that I have … I honor you. In the Name of the Father," he touches the ring to her thumb "and of the Son" to her index finger, "and of the Holy Spirit" to her middle finger, "Amen." His slips it upon her finger.

Siobhan directs them to clasp hands and she wraps one end of the white stole about their hands for a final prayer, unbinds them and then addresses the crowd. "Now that James and Michelle have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

"Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder!"

x

After the final prayer Michelle can barely keep up with the sudden change from solemn to celebratory; in the midst of hugs and kisses she's nearly lost. She sees Tony and Tim remove, from the back of the Director's black limousine that she hadn't even noticed, a heavy drape, brushing a collection of empty cans from under it so they clatter to the pavement. To the back of the car is adhered a black sign painted with white letters: 'Just Married.'

"If we leave now," Jimmy tells her, "we can just make our flight."

"You'll have to carry me." She doubts she can get her shaking legs to obey her.

He tugs her toward the open door of the limo, gets in first, but before she can follow Abby presses the bouquet she had left in the Rectory into her hands, backing away quickly to join the other unmarried women in a throng near the Memorial steps.

Michelle, grinning broadly, throws the flowers upward into the air with all her might and gets into the car, hugs and kisses her husband as the door closes and the black limo starts away over the raucous noise of the trailing cans.

Behind them, the flowers complete their arc, start down and land directly into the hands of

ooo

Next Episode: Nosferatu  
Vampires are unreal, the stuff of legend and fear, until one starts killing on the streets of Washington. Can Gibbs and his team combat an enemy from the grave?


End file.
